


Scent

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Onmyouji (The Yin-Yang Master)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-18
Updated: 2009-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-04 13:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 43,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Challenged to create the perfect scent for an imperial contest, Hiromasa unwittingly enlists the aid of a demon. When he attempts to replicate Seimei's scent, Hiromasa learns that seduction is the same as possession…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> According to the manga, Seimei lives within the city. In _Onmyoji II_, Genkaku says Seimei lives outside. It suits this story to make him liminal, so I've followed movie canon and placed his house beyond the city walls.

_Eighth Month, Fifteenth Day_

The day of the Mid-Autumn Festival had been spoiled by heavy cloud. During the morning, black thunderheads hung over the city to the east. Rain fell in the afternoon, but the cloudburst was not enough to clear the skies.

The air still felt damp, warm and suffocating, when the Chancellor's party began. In place of the absent moon the courtiers praised bright-shining lanterns. Wine cups bearing poems on fine paper floated along the rain-swollen stream dividing the Chancellor's garden. Silk sleeves coloured dim by lack of moonlight dipped and swayed as guests reached into the water to retrieve the poems.

The Chancellor was in good spirits, witty and expansive. His gentlemen shared his mood, flirting with the Empress' ladies. Laughter spread around the garden. Bets were made, promises whispered, trysts arranged.

Minamoto no Hiromasa sat drinking, cheerful despite the sodden heat. By seating himself away from the banks of the stream, he'd avoided the necessity of capping any poems that came floating his way. Relieved of the burden of being clever, a task he found onerous, he could simply enjoy himself.

As the night drew on, conversation ebbed. A warm breeze rattled through the leaves on the trees, prompting a lady to remark that soon the leaves would fall to mark the arrival of winter.

Her words cast a sweet melancholy. The guests sighed and drank a toast to winter.

"What if winter doesn't come?" a gentleman asked.

The Chancellor chuckled. "It will come. Winter is inevitable."

"But if it doesn't?" The gentleman was persistent, and seemed very drunk.

"Then we will summon it." The Chancellor gestured for more sake. He looked around at his guests, peering through the flickering lantern-light until his gaze rested on Hiromasa. The Chancellor called out, "Lord Hiromasa, give us the benefit of your knowledge. A yin yang master can alter the weather, can he not? He can call forth the rain and make clouds scatter. Summoning the winter would be an easy task."

Hiromasa paused, the wine cup halfway to his lips. He wasn't certain that Seimei could control the weather or the cycle of seasons. Certainly his friend could conjure clouds and mists and eerie bolts of lightning, but Hiromasa knew they were somehow made from illusions.

The Chancellor and his companions waited for a response. Hiromasa struggled for a coherent answer through the layers of drunkenness swimming in his head. "The seasons change when they are ready. Not even a yin yang master could persuade them."

A ripple of laughter passed through the gathering. The Chancellor didn't smile. "Persuade? A yin yang master does not persuade. He demands. He orders demons to return to hell and spirits to pass to the next life. Persuade, indeed. What nonsense!"

"Lord Seimei is very persuasive."

"And very demanding?" suggested a lady.

The women hid behind their fans and giggled. The men sniggered. Hiromasa felt a blush burn his face, and was glad of the darkness. Embarrassment made him bold, and he said, "Your Excellency should have invited Lord Seimei tonight. Then he could tell you himself and you would not need to rely on my poor answers."

"Bah." The Chancellor drew the edges of his cloak around him. "Yin yang masters do not belong at social gatherings, no matter how persuasive they might be. Soldiers and scholars can put aside their swords and books for a party, but a yin yang master can hardly set aside his propensity for seeing demons. It is said that Abe no Seimei attracts demons the way moths are drawn to lanterns. I do not want demons at one of my parties."

Hiromasa glanced around the darkened garden. There was probably a demon of some sort amongst them even now, but he decided not to say anything. He would only be misunderstood, and he had no desire to insult the Chancellor, his daughter the Empress, or any of the other high-ranking guests.

Mention of Seimei made him feel restless. Hiromasa's good cheer slipped away, leaving him frowning into his cup of sake. What the Chancellor had said wasn't quite true. There were plenty of yin yang masters within the Bureau of Divination who were often invited to social gatherings. With a vast knowledge of Chinese literature both arcane and secular, yin yang masters were usually entertaining conversationalists.

But few people sought out Seimei for anything but official business. He was too sharp, too clever, too different. His powers as a yin yang master made people fear him, and his obvious boredom with courtly manners and disdain for those of his own rank and higher ensured his alienation. He was, however, an ideal target for gossip.

Hiromasa always felt slighted by the gossip, offended on Seimei's behalf. He felt annoyed now. Putting down his cup, he got to his feet, swaying a little. "Very well," he said, ignoring the laughter around him, "I will ask Seimei to summon the winter. He will persuade it to come. Bring me an inkstone and I will write to him this instant."

The Chancellor snorted, his moustache twitching. "Who will carry your message, Lord Hiromasa? Not any of my servants, or any of yours. The gates are closed until first light. But perhaps you have other, more esoteric ways of communicating with Lord Seimei."

Now Hiromasa knew the laughter was directed at him. Flushing with humiliation and bold with drunkenness, he lifted his chin. "I will take the message myself, Your Excellency – and yes, I will deliver it via secret means!"

The ladies gasped and twittered, but the men guffawed. The Chancellor made a shooing gesture. "Go then, Lord Hiromasa. Brave the moonless night for the sake of truth – if that is indeed why you wish to visit Lord Seimei…"

"Of course he goes for the sake of truth," a lady trilled. "A lover would be more circumspect."

Hiromasa turned and hurried from the Chancellor's garden, mocking laughter still crowding at his back.

* * * *

Hiromasa climbed the city wall, fumbling and slipping in the darkness, buoyed on by his anger and by the desire to see Seimei. The night felt alive and animal around him, too warm for a man to go climbing. He lay on top of the wall and rested a moment, breathing in the scent of bruised foliage and his own sweat. Then he lowered himself to the ground outside the city, his descent slow and careful.

He'd given little thought to the end of his journey. Hiromasa told himself he had come to ask a simple question. He had not come because of love. Despite what gossip said, he and Seimei were not, and never had been, lovers. If prompted, Hiromasa would admit to a deep affection for his friend. If he knew Seimei shared his feelings, he would be willing to deepen that affection further.

But reading Seimei was like glancing into a mirror: sometimes bright, sometimes clouded, the image always untouchable.

Hiromasa knew himself for a simple man, despite his family connections. He liked matters straightforward and uncomplicated. Seimei was neither of these things. He was oblique and mysterious, fascinating and frightening. Hiromasa's unformed desire for his friend partly came from the attraction of opposites.

Of course, Seimei was beautiful, too. Enchanting, some would say, his deep purring voice at odds with his pale, narrow looks. Rumour said he was the son of a fox woman. Hiromasa had asked once if the rumour was true.

Seimei had laughed at him. "Do you think I look like a fox?"

Hiromasa couldn't reply. He'd never seen a fox in human shape; how could he know if his friend resembled one?

The gates to Seimei's house opened for him as he approached. He stepped over the high lintel and into the tangled garden. The night was softer here, the darkness intense with the scent of flowers. Not even the Chancellor's garden smelled so sweet. Hiromasa stumbled past whispering grasses and remembered too late the azalea shrub on the twist of the path. Its dry leaves brushed his outstretched hands; like a blind man he felt his way towards the house.

Not a single light shone along the verandas. Realising this, Hiromasa halted, his eyes wide with disappointment. He hadn't expected to find the master of the house asleep. Perhaps he should leave now, before whatever invisible threads of protection his friend had spun around his property roused him from dreams.

Seimei spoke from the darkness. "Did you know, Hiromasa, tonight there's a taboo on travelling to the northeast."

"I know."

"That's very unlucky." A single light gleamed, a lantern round like the moon. Seimei stood beside it, eyes dark in shadow. "You invite disaster."

Hiromasa waded through a cluster of white flowers. He pulled the head from one and carried it with him up the steps onto the corridor. "You will protect me."

"Perhaps." The breeze set the lantern rocking. Slashes of light flickered across Seimei's hunting costume, white-shadow-white. He reached up and stilled the lantern, watching Hiromasa approach. "It's very late. How did you get past the gates?"

"The walls are crumbling in places, covered in vines. I climbed over."

"Unaccompanied and in the dark? You surprise me, Hiromasa." At last Seimei gave ground, retreating back along the corridor to assume his usual place on the veranda. He sank to the floor beside a jar of sake and a single jade cup.

"I wanted to see you." Hiromasa sat, arranging his silks around him. He eyed the wine jar, waiting for a second cup to appear. When Seimei didn't offer him a drink, he dipped his head in embarrassment and annoyance. It had been a long walk in the dark. He was thirsty.

Unfurling his hand, he studied the flower he'd picked. A white chrysanthemum. He couldn't recall the meaning of the plant, but the snowy petals and golden centre seemed cheerful against his black robes. Shaking off his irritation at Seimei's lack of hospitality, he smiled at his friend then cast a curious glance around.

The lantern had moved. Now it hung above them, unanchored. Hiromasa frowned. Maybe it had been there all along. Or maybe…

"You wanted to see me. You can see me now," Seimei said dryly, recalling his attention. "Was there a particular reason that brought you here at such an hour?"

Hiromasa smiled again, remembering his mission. "I have a question. Can you influence the weather?"

Seimei looked startled. "Hiromasa, you broke a taboo and disregarded the laws of the city just to ask me about the weather?"

"It's important."

"To a farmer, perhaps." Seimei's silks rustled as he gave a dismissive shrug. He changed the subject. "You came here from the Chancellor's party."

Hiromasa had long ago given up being surprised that his friend seemed to know everything. He nodded. "We talked about the weather."

Seimei quirked an eyebrow. A faint smile warmed his lips. "How very tedious it must have been. Were there no princesses for you to admire, no ladies-in-waiting to flatter?"

"Of course. But I wanted to see you." Even brave with drink, Hiromasa thought his announcement sounded too forward. He hastened to excuse himself. "I thought we could watch the moon together."

Seimei sighed. "There is no moon tonight."

The chrysanthemum rolled off Hiromasa's lap as he leaned towards his friend. "Can't you make the clouds go away?"

"Why would I wish to do that?"

Hiromasa felt a snap of frustration. He hated it when Seimei went blank and treated him as if he were just another court noble. "So we can admire the moon's beauty and recite poems to it."

Still calm, Seimei picked up the chrysanthemum head. He tore at the petals, letting them drift to the floor. "I have no desire to listen to poetry tonight," he said. "Neither, I think, does the moon."

"You are cruel, Seimei." Hiromasa reached out and took the wine jar. It wasn't quite empty. He tilted it, savouring the trickle of sake across his tongue.

"And you, my dear Hiromasa, are drunk."

Hiromasa set down the jar. "Am I? Dear, I mean. Am I dear to you?"

Seimei looked at him sharply, his posture tense and wary. Then he stood, dropping the mutilated chrysanthemum. He made a gesture, and the lantern floated away into the garden to light the path to the gate. "You should return home. I will summon a shikigami to accompany you."

"No." The dismissal made Hiromasa angry. It was always this way between them, the courtier and the prince, the acolyte and the priest. Seimei never gave any thought to his feelings. Confusion spun inside him, darkness and desire stirred as much by the bruised chrysanthemum on the floor as by Seimei's sudden uncertainty.

Hiromasa reached out and grasped a handful of his friend's hakama. The silk felt like water, cool and flowing around his fingers. He seized more cloth, afraid that Seimei would drift away from him. "Answer me, Seimei. I want –"

"What you want is dangerous, and can bring you no pleasure."

Stunned, only half understanding his friend's words, Hiromasa tightened his grip. His voice a whisper, he asked, "How do you know?"

Seimei turned back, looking down. His face was in shadow. "Hiromasa…"

"It could be good."

With a swift gesture, Seimei pulled free. His breathing sounded uneven. "So this is what you came for."

"No. Yes." Hiromasa groped after him as Seimei withdrew. He reached out and caught the trailing hem of the hunting costume. "Seimei!"

Without thinking, he pulled hard and heard the cloth tear. The sound shocked him. Hiromasa almost let go. Instead, he grasped again, catching more silk. This time he yanked on it, bringing Seimei down in a tangle. An apology wavered on Hiromasa's lips. He dismissed it, angry that Seimei could reject him so easily.

Seimei moved, a blur of white in the shadows. Hiromasa crawled towards him, the torn scrap of silk still clasped in his hand. Inside the house, he dropped it. The enormity of what he was doing made him hesitate. Then he reasoned that if Seimei didn't want him here, he would have been cast out or turned to stone long ago.

His doubts faded as lust burned through him, sharp and insistent. Seimei's tacit surrender excited him more than did any of the coy fluttering of the court ladies. Hiromasa went forwards, blind again in the darkness.

He touched the edge of a sleeping mat. His belly heated with anticipation. When he reached out, his fingers brushed silk. They lifted, closing around warmth, shaping it, drawing it near.

"This is dangerous." Seimei trembled in his arms. "And I'm afraid."

"How can you be afraid?" Hiromasa meant that a yin yang master had no cause to fear anything. Astonished, he added, "You must have done this before. And besides, it's only me."

"Yes," said Seimei. "That's why I'm afraid."


	2. Chapter 2

_Ninth Month, Seventh Day_

It was too humid to make love.

Normally a man of optimistic disposition, Hiromasa felt as if he'd lost the will to live. When he moved, the air pressed down upon him, smothering him in unpleasant, liquid heat. Raising a finger was bad enough; raising anything else seemed beyond his capability. He murmured an apology to his companion and covered his face with his sleeve.

"That's quite all right." Winter Moon, his current mistress, gave a sigh of what Hiromasa thought was relief as she settled on her back beside him. Her long hair, coiled on his chest like a sleeping cat, felt heavy and intimate through the layers of his robes. Discreetly, Hiromasa nudged it away from his chin while she continued to talk.

"It's so unpleasant to get all sweaty. Even if it is nice to lie with you, my lord, it's still a messy business whichever way you look at it. The next auspicious day for washing hair isn't for another eleven days, and it's loathsome to feel sweat amongst one's hair. Besides, Her Majesty gave me this silk only last week, and it would be a shame to ruin it. It's very fine, don't you think?"

Hiromasa made a noncommittal noise to show he was listening, and allowed his mind to drift.

Winter Moon liked to talk more than any other woman he'd met. He'd approached her only because he'd wondered if she resembled her name. At the beginning of summer, he'd yearned for an ice-pale maiden with whom to cool the heat. After a flourishing exchange of poems, they'd met at her mother's estate. Hiromasa discovered Winter Moon was small and slightly plump, her disposition simple and open. She had no calm elegance and blade-sharp wit, only childish enthusiasm and a sense of her own importance that came from being one of the Empress' favourite ladies-in-waiting.

Under normal circumstances, Winter Moon would be his ideal woman. But the relentless heat had revealed many ideals as foolish romantic fantasies.

Autumn was peculiarly warm this year, the bitterness of winter still an impossible dream. It was as if the seasons had forgot to turn, and autumn had become an extension of summer. Life at court remained intolerable as men and women drooped in apathy. Tempers flared with the heat then dampened down with the afternoon rains. Jealousies real or imagined sparked violently before subsiding into glowering resentment. It seemed that the heat unmasked people's true personalities, revealing their shortcomings with cruel clarity.

Hiromasa was conscious of his own boredom and a longing for escape. He blamed these feelings on Winter Moon's droning chatter, but knew she was blameless. The problem lay within the stultifying rituals of court life, and within himself.

Only one person of Hiromasa's acquaintance seemed unmoved by the heat: Abe no Seimei. His house, on the very edge of the city, caught the breeze from the distant mountains. It was always deliciously cool in summer and comfortably warm in winter, although Hiromasa imagined that was due to magic rather than architectural design.

Even away from his home, Seimei looked unruffled, his silks immaculate and not even a sheen of sweat upon his forehead. Hiromasa had seen him earlier, kneeling in full sunlight as he studied a scroll. The white of his hunting costume had a glaring brilliance, almost an insult to the limp fabrics of the courtiers around him. The pale blue of the robe beneath looked like ice under snow, cool and tempting.

Hiromasa had wanted to touch him. He'd longed to go over and speak to his friend, to apologise for what had happened between them three weeks ago. He'd stepped out of the shadows of the long gallery and started across the courtyard, determined to give the speech he'd rehearsed so often in his head.

Seimei had looked up and fixed him with an impenetrable gaze, and Hiromasa's bravery shrivelled. He'd swung about, black silks fluttering, and retreated back into the shadows of the palace.

It had been his fault, of course. Hiromasa despaired of ever learning the right way to do things. He shone at court niceties and excelled at trivial affairs, but when it came to something important, he always failed.

Take, for example, the way he'd treated Seimei. Hiromasa squirmed restlessly at the thought, dislodging the coils of Winter Moon's hair from his chest. The hair, heavily scented, slumped between them. She didn't seem to notice, prattling on about something else. When she paused for breath, he murmured his agreement to whatever she'd said.

Not that she heard him. Winter Moon could probably talk to a folding screen all day and be content with hearing the sound of her own voice. Not like Seimei, who wrapped himself in silence and only spoke easily when sake and good humour had loosened his tongue.

Hiromasa shifted again, sweat trickling down his sides to dampen his under-robe. His mind turned, as it often did, to the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival – and the last time Seimei had spoken to him.

The night existed in his memory only as fragments, scattered puzzle pieces of an indefinable whole. He remembered the lingering note of sake on his tongue, the pounding of blood in his ears, the feel of torn silk and warm skin. He remembered Seimei's scent, the snap and crumple of a paper fan, the taste of Seimei's nape and the slow tumble of hair loosened from its topknot.

At first light, sick with a hangover matched in ferocity only by his sense of remorse, Hiromasa had hurried home. So desperate was he to put distance between himself and Seimei that he allowed an acquaintance returning to the city to take him up in his ox-cart. Later, he realised he'd invited fresh gossip about himself and Seimei. The difference this time would be that the rumours were true.

Only when he reached the safety of his home did Hiromasa pause to think about what he'd done. He worried at first then reasoned that it was not so terrible. Sex was just an act, a casual diversion. Male friends often slept together for no more reason than drunkenness or a passing whim. Perhaps it had meant nothing to Seimei, and all his fears were groundless. But then Hiromasa remembered how he'd acted, and worried afresh. He prided himself on being a refined lover. Refined lovers did not bite and scratch like fighting cats.

It was only then that Hiromasa realised he'd been so busy fretting about the consequences of the night before that he'd violated the rule of the morning after. Only a complete boor would ignore convention. Exhausted by his thoughts, he spent the next hour selecting the right paper and grinding ink to the ideal consistency. Then he attempted to frame a suitable poem.

But how could he write a poem about something that made him feel such confusion? And how could he write anything when Seimei always seemed amused by his fumbling attempts at poetry? Hiromasa panicked. Not to write anything would be considered an insult, but to express himself badly would be worse.

By sunset he'd written something trite about the moon and clouds. He winced when he read it, then folded it, fastened it with a spray of sweet-smelling evening honeysuckle, and called for a messenger to deliver it.

Seimei had sent his reply on beautiful white Chinese paper, the like of which Hiromasa had never seen. It shimmered as if faceted with mother-of-pearl, and seemed warm, alive, to the touch. Bound with a sprig of violets, the paper was blank.

Confused, Hiromasa had stared at the empty paper until hurt crept in and filled the gaping silence.

The hurt and silence still lingered now, three weeks later. Hiromasa heaved a sigh loud enough to distract Winter Moon from her monologue. She put a hand on his chest and gave him a quizzical look. "My lord?"

Hiromasa hastened to reassure her. "I'm fine. Please, do continue your story. It's so interesting."

She preened a little and resumed talking. He heard something about the mismatched colours of Lady Sadako's robes and found his thoughts floating free. They turned once again to Seimei. His friend wouldn't care about mismatched robes. Indeed, it seemed from the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival that Seimei preferred the sensation of skin on skin, without even a single layer of silk to cover his modesty.

When Hiromasa had crept away at dawn, he'd left his friend sleeping naked beneath the blanket of layered robes. He gave another wistful sigh. Nudity had never appealed to him before, but in this heat it seemed like a good idea. It was almost as enticing a thought as that of Seimei naked, his pale body sinuous, his skin cool, only his mouth warm with the taste of sake.

Arousal pricked at him. Hiromasa blushed beneath the cover of his sleeve. One really shouldn't think of one lover – could he really call Seimei his lover? – whilst lying beside another. He banished all thoughts of his friend and tried to focus on Winter Moon's monologue.

Her chatter had turned from clothes to a recent root-matching contest. Apparently a fight had broken out between two ladies when one accused the other of cutting her root in half. The second had suggested that the first lady had broken the root herself while employing it for other purposes. The subsequent exchange of words had led to physical blows. When summoned, the palace guards, clearly enjoying the diversion, had watched the two women rather than separate them.

"The heat is making us all crazy," Hiromasa muttered, moving his sleeve.

Winter Moon turned onto her side and looked at him. "That's what Her Majesty said! Not that she used those same words, but that's what she meant. So she's asked His Excellency her father to judge the contest."

Hiromasa blinked out of his daze. "Hmm? What contest?"

She giggled. "The new contest, the one I was telling you about before I told you about the root contest. Her Majesty's incense contest. It won't be judged until winter arrives, of course, when this awful heat has gone, but the weather will change soon, I'm sure of it."

"Right." Hiromasa tried to keep up with Winter Moon's constant shifts in conversation. He was too warm and flustered to follow each topic with the devotion a lover should show, and felt guilty for his lapse. He needed to make more of an effort. "So, you're entering the incense contest?"

Winter Moon hid behind a fold of her gown, her eyes gleaming above the fabric. "Perhaps."

"I'm sure you'll win a prize." Hiromasa glanced at her with a smile. "My mother won several such competitions when she was young. Our family has a special recipe. Perhaps she would share it with you."

Winter Moon gave a squeal of delight, displaying far more animation at the prospect than she'd ever shown in his bed. "That would be wonderful, my lord! But you know, several gentlemen have said they'll take part in the contest. You should try it, too."

"Me?" The idea startled him. "But I don't know the first thing about incense-blending."

"Oh, please." Winter Moon clung to his sleeve. "You must try. A newcomer to the art always produces interesting and unusual scents. Or you may have inherited the skill from your mother. Besides, blending the perfect incense is the real test of a gentleman. Everyone says so."

Hiromasa snorted. "I thought you said the test of a gentleman was in the music he played, the poetry he wrote and the clothes he wore."

"And the perfume he creates." Winter Moon flirted a little. "Say you'll enter the contest. Everyone likes you, my lord. If you take part, others will want to join in, too. It'll be the biggest and best contest ever!"

"It takes so long to make incense," Hiromasa remarked, but already he was pondering the suggestion, calling to mind the scent of his mother, his lovers, the women he'd only loved from a distance.

"That's why it's the perfect contest for this horrible weather." Winter Moon drew away from him and sat up, patting her hair. "It takes time and patience, so it's ideal for alleviating boredom. That's what Her Majesty says, anyway."

Hiromasa made a sound of agreement, still thinking of perfume. If he was going to go to the trouble of learning how to make incense, he wanted to do it well.

"Lord Seimei says the weather will change soon, even if the astronomers don't believe him." Winter Moon retrieved her fan and fluttered it, the tiny breeze welcome against the heat. "His Excellency agrees with Lord Seimei, and so the incense contest will be held at the end of next month, when Lord Seimei guarantees the weather will be cold and clear."

"Seimei?" Hiromasa gazed at her in surprise. "Seimei is predicting the weather?"

Winter Moon giggled again. "I was there with Lady Takumi when he made his report to His Excellency and Her Majesty. We peeked at him through the screens. He really does look like a fox, doesn't he?"

"Yes," said Hiromasa. "He does."


	3. Chapter 3

As his ox-cart jolted through the city wards, Hiromasa continued to think about his scent for the contest. Sandalwood was too obvious; musk too pungent; cloves too warm. Briefly he considered using flowers as a base before he realised that everyone else would do the same thing. Incense-blending was like music, he thought: he needed an underlying scent motif, one single perfect note, before he could try any variations.

And then it came to him, an idea beautiful in its simplicity. He would create something new, a blend that would intrigue and attract – a scent not based on the perfume of flowers or the heat of spice, but of human skin.

Hiromasa pressed his inner wrist to his nose. He could smell Winter Moon's perfume mixed in with his own sweat and the faint trace of ink. It was a comforting, not unpleasant scent, but hardly one that would win a prize. He needed something exotic and alluring, a perfume that would conjure different feelings in different people. He needed something simple and complex, something with an edge of bitterness and a touch of sweetness, a scent that could attract even those who found it peculiar.

In short, he needed Seimei's scent.

Hiromasa was sure his friend would help. He pulled aside the curtain and leaned out of the cart. "Take me to the house of Abe no Seimei!"

* * * *

The gates opened to admit him. Hiromasa strode through the tangled wilderness of the garden, absently noting which flowers were still in season. Perhaps Seimei would consent to him using a few in the incense blend.

A female shikigami waited on the porch. Greeted by her silence and blank expression, Hiromasa realised that Seimei must still be at the palace. He hesitated, at first unwilling to enter the house while its master was absent, but then decided it was the ideal opportunity. He could make notes at his leisure, without fear of any arch commentary. Perhaps he could even smuggle away a ball of Seimei's incense for further examination.

Delicate footsteps sounded. Mitsumushi brushed past the shikigami, dismissing her with a glance. She turned to him and beamed over her armful of flowers. "Hiromasa!"

He bowed, which made the pretty butterfly-spirit giggle. Mitsumushi indicated that he should follow her, and led him to the veranda where he and Seimei usually sat. The shikigami waited in the shadows, holding a jug of sake and a cup. Mitsumushi gestured that he was to seat himself and wait for Seimei's return.

Hiromasa remained standing, feeling uncomfortable. Quite aside from the fact that he didn't know how long Seimei would stay at the palace, he'd come here for a reason and didn't want to get sidetracked by the sake.

He glanced at Mitsumushi, who was watching him with friendly interest. Hiromasa was never certain how much she understood. He didn't want to confuse her, but didn't know how best to explain himself. "I don't want to drink," he said. "I want perfume." He mimed sniffing his clothes. "Incense."

Mitsumushi nodded. She held out the flowers in her hands. "Perfume!"

"Not flower perfume," Hiromasa told her. "Seimei."

The butterfly-spirit looked confused. "Seimei? No."

Hiromasa sighed. "Do you mean Seimei doesn't use scent, or you don't know where he keeps it?"

"No scent." Mitsumushi smiled. "No scent!"

"But he must," Hiromasa protested. "He always smells so good…"

Mitsumushi tilted her head and beamed at him again, picking up on the last word. "Hiromasa is a very good man."

The familiar phrase brought him to his senses. A very good man wouldn't skulk in his friend's house in the hope of stealing incense. He was being ridiculous, and he felt glad Seimei wasn't there to pass comment on his actions.

Hiromasa sank to the floor with a sigh. Perhaps he would have one cup of sake before he went home. On a whim he sat in Seimei's usual place, leaning against the wooden pillar on the outside of the veranda while Mitsumushi poured the sake.

He accepted the cup, holding it balanced in one hand but not drinking from it. Hiromasa closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He could smell the sharpness of the alcohol and the brazen sweetness of Mitsumushi's discarded flowers. Beneath it, lingering in the warmth of the house, he caught Seimei's scent.

He opened his eyes and sat forward so quickly he spilled the sake. Immediately, Seimei's scent was lost. Hiromasa cursed. He put down the cup and licked the sake from his skin, conscious of its smell burning in his nose. He snorted, blinked, and caught the trace of scent again.

It teased him, now bold, now shy. Leaving the veranda, he followed it like a dog, scrambling from room to room to seek its source. He found nothing. Not even in the cold braziers did he discover a fleck of scented ash. Mitsumushi had been telling the truth: Seimei didn't use incense. The scent that perfumed his house, his clothes, his skin – it was either magic, or pure Seimei.

Hiromasa decided it didn't really matter what it was or where it came from. He had to master it, make it his own.

He took a piece of folded paper from his cloak. Borrowing an inkstone and brush from Seimei's study, Hiromasa made notes on the scent that lingered throughout the house. He tried to name its subtleties and the feelings each layer evoked. His thoughts emerged onto the paper as a strange kind of poetry: _black ink damp earth/fox in wet bracken/shadows in sunlight/night-flowering spikenard hunger sex_.

Hiromasa stared at the paper and tried to make sense of what he'd written. To him, sunlight smelled of lemon flowers, dried grass, dust and fire. None of those came close to the scent he knew from Seimei's skin. He didn't like spikenard, and how was he to recognise the scent of hunger?

Gloom descended. Perhaps he should just make a blend of lavender and late autumn roses, like everyone else. Hiromasa crumpled his notes and shoved the paper back inside his cloak.

Mitsumushi stood watching him, an expression of intense curiosity upon her face. A white glossed under-robe trailed from her arms. She offered it to him, saying, "Seimei. Scent."

Hiromasa took it. Cautiously at first, and then with intent, he sniffed the robe from collar to sleeve and down its length. Seimei had worn it closest to his skin while he'd slept. His scent was trapped in the cloth, every nuance of his body imprinted upon the beaten silk.

Elated, Hiromasa retrieved his poetic list and annotated his earlier remarks. This time, he would get it right. There would be no mistakes when he came to blend the incense. He furled the robe over his fist and held it beneath his nose. Breathing in only Seimei made his head swim. His other senses blurred as he focused on his task.

Hiromasa felt arousal thrum through him, a low-level desire provoked by the feel of silk in his hand and Seimei's scent wrapping around him. He wished Seimei was with him now, wished he could smell the scent from cool, naked skin rather than this garment tangled around his fingers.

"Ah!" Mitsumushi's cry jolted him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see the butterfly-spirit jump to her feet and move towards the front of the house. She giggled, turning to Hiromasa. "Seimei!"

"Seimei…"

Hiromasa dropped the robe as if it were on fire. The idea that his friend would find him like this, molesting his clothes and taking notes on the experience, filled him with shame. Embarrassed and guilty, he fled.

* * * *

It still wasn't right.

In a fit of temper, Hiromasa swept his arm across the floor, spilling powder and colour. Crushed seashell glittered like frost. The honey pot fell over, a sticky golden trail oozing onto the floorboards. Petals drifted, sticking in the honey or skittering in a puff of breeze towards the garden.

Hiromasa sneezed. He rubbed his nose, certain he was coming down with a cold. He'd sniffed so many different scents he could no longer distinguish one from the other. Only the heavy richness of frankincense lingered, a smell that dominated the room and stood in complete opposition to the scent he wanted to create.

A headache hung behind his eyes. Hiromasa sighed and gave up on his experiments for a while. He went into the garden and took deep breaths, trying to dispel the myriad scents cluttering his memory. He found it difficult to take the air without attempting to identify every separate perfume borne along by the breeze. Frustrated, he went back indoors and lay down with a jug of sake.

The arrival of a messenger lifted Hiromasa from his gloom. The letter was written on pale pink Korean paper and knotted with a sprig of lavender so dry it snapped in his hands like tinder. Cautiously, he sniffed it, and recognised Winter Moon's scent.

He unfolded the letter, skipped the opening poem and scanned through several items of gossip before he found her answer to the question he'd asked this morning – how can one capture a person's scent?  


>   
> _About the incense contest_, she wrote,
> 
> _Well, I really shouldn't share confidential information, but you know, your mother was so helpful when I called on her and I don't think it's cheating to swap basic recipes, so I'll tell you. My own unique scent is praised by many people, you know, even the Empress remarked on it last year. So I'm not surprised you want to copy it. You must promise to burn this just as soon as you've made the incense, I don't want anyone else stealing my perfume. Anyway, here's the recipe…_  
> 

  
Hiromasa stopped reading. She'd completely misunderstood him. He supposed it was his own fault for being so coy, but he could hardly tell her the truth.

Prompted by curiosity, he glanced at the letter again and examined Winter Moon's recipe. Lavender and late autumn roses, just as he'd thought, blended with Indian resin and sandalwood. Hiromasa wrinkled his nose. It seemed to him a dull fragrance lacking in any originality, but now she'd expect him to produce a variation.

"Damn," he muttered, returning to his ingredients. He looked at the poem-list he'd made at Seimei's house and began again, pouring a quantity of black ink over cloves and letting them steep.

More letters arrived throughout the afternoon. Hiromasa had written to every woman of his acquaintance and begged for help. Some ladies replied only to tease him gently for taking on such a difficult task. Others offered advice that, when he tried it, proved useless. Those women who'd known him more intimately in recent months made the same assumption as Winter Moon, and along with their secret recipes for their personal incense blends, they also enclosed fervent wishes to see him again as soon as the weather changed.

He piled these letters together and wondered what to do. Perhaps some fictional prince could cope with the demands of fifteen ladies at once, but Hiromasa doubted he had the stamina to try it. Besides, if he wanted to please all the ladies, he had to make all their perfumes. If he chose to make only one, it would be a humiliation for the rest. And if he failed completely, no woman, least of all the generous ladies who'd shared their secrets with him, would want to warm his bed during the winter months.

So he had to create a new perfume. There was no escaping it. He had to make Seimei's scent.

Hiromasa tried again, combining the advice and various methods outlined in the letters. He tried pounding the incense in the garden, and then on the porch. He dispatched a servant to fetch water from a mountain spring. He experimented with mixing scents with the ashes from different types of wood. Still Seimei's scent evaded him.

As the sun lowered, one final letter arrived. The sender was a lady Hiromasa had nicknamed Cloudy Days, a woman who balanced glittering wit with bitter resignation. He was rather frightened of her, but she'd always been kind to him, even after their brief affair ended. He read her message while he ate his evening rice:   


>   
> _I hear you've been writing to every woman at court about this incense-blending contest. Silly boy, don't you know that all the fragrances you smell on your lovers are created by the same person? Ignore any advice they may give and don't try any of their so-called 'secret recipes'. If you want a perfume, any kind of perfume, go outside the city to the west and look for the house of a woman they call Nose. Offer her more than anyone else has promised, and you'll win the contest._  
> 

  
Hiromasa read it twice then jumped to his feet. He left his meal half finished and strode out of the house still adjusting the hat upon his head, his formal cloak trailing as he hurried towards the western gate. 


	4. Chapter 4

The sun still lingered, deepening the shadows as Hiromasa picked his way through the lowly buildings clustered outside the city. Accustomed to straying beyond the safety of the gates to the northeast without coming to any harm, he made the assumption that he'd be just as safe in the west.

A small crowd followed him, their common speech unintelligible and fast when he asked for directions. They seemed to find him amusing, pointing at his black brocades and dark orange silks. There was no malice in their actions, but it made Hiromasa aware that he had no place in this little world.

The crowd turned away as he approached a rough patch of ground filled with wild and cultivated flowers. Amidst the foliage, a tumbledown hovel stood beside a cesspit. The stink was enough to make him gag. He hid his face in his sleeve and felt his way over to the door, his feet squelching through something repulsive. He lifted his free hand to knock, but the door opened before he could touch it.

 

Hiromasa lowered the sleeve from his face and stared at the door, suspecting trickery. He looked for a pentacle scratched into the wood, then glanced around in case he should see Seimei standing nearby, smiling that fox-smile and with his fingers to his lips.

He saw nothing unusual. When he examined the door again, Hiromasa realised the catch was broken. He smiled. No magic – just a broken door. Much relieved, he stepped inside.

The interior was darker than he'd expected, without even a lamp to guide him. Hiromasa bumped into various items, scattering a pile of seashells and knocking down a bunch of dried flowers hanging from the roof. He edged into a clear part of the room and turned around.

To his astonishment, he could no longer smell the disgusting odour from the cesspit. Instead, a warm, ticklish fragrance set him at ease. Looking for its source, he spotted a long table set beneath a jumble of shelves. Tiny bottles sat in neat rows. A pestle and mortar rested beside flasks and jars.

Unable to check his curiosity, Hiromasa went closer to the table. Here the air hung thick with perfumes, layer upon layer of the most marvellous, intoxicating scents, and yet the combination didn't offend his nose or give him a headache. He looked at the rows of bottles and felt a flicker of surprise that none of them were labelled. He reached out to touch the closest bottle, wondering if its contents were liquid or powder.

"Don't touch that."

The voice was sharp and autocratic, even if the accent suggested a person of low class. Hiromasa jerked back his hand and spun around.

A woman emerged from the darkness, her hair unbound and tangled around her face. She wore grey robes inexpertly fastened, her movements revealing glimpses of pale skin beneath the grimy cloth.

Hiromasa would have looked away decorously, but Nose was young and pretty and did not seem to care about her state of undress. He wondered if she was a whore as well as an incense-blender, but realised it would be offensive to ask. Instead he beamed at her with considerably more warmth than he'd anticipated. He'd thought Nose would be an ugly old hag. Lovely young ladies were much more to his taste.

Only when she drew nearer did Hiromasa realise that his charming smile would have no impact on Nose. Beneath the strands of matted hair, her eyes were milk-white, almost reptilian. They moved continually, but saw nothing.

"Oh!" Hiromasa felt a moment of sorrow that such a pretty girl should be so afflicted. "You're blind."

"And you're a prince removed from succession. How charming."

He started. "How did you know that?"

"I can smell it on you."

Hiromasa patted down his cloak, sniffing it surreptitiously. "I'm surprised you can smell anything but the cesspit."

"Waste has such nuances of scent." Nose walked around him, her chin tilted and her nose high. It was a small nose with fine nostrils that flared delicately as she sniffed the air around him. "Human waste, animal waste. You could learn all you wished to know about a man from his cesspit."

"I don't wish to know anything about cesspits." Hiromasa shuddered at the idea. "But you could tell me how you know my status. What does it smell like?"

Nose laughed. "Are you afraid you may smell of disappointment or bitterness? No, my friend, you smell of contentment. You are satisfied with your position and don't hunger for anything higher. Except… there is, I think, a touch of frustration about one aspect of your life. Which is why you're here."

"You know all that just from my scent?"

He turned and found himself face to face with her. Nose stood much closer than he'd have allowed any other woman of such short acquaintance, but to step away from a blind person would seem cruel. Besides, she really was pretty, Hiromasa decided. Even her strange white eyes had a sort of beauty to them.

She smiled as if she knew he found her attractive. "Not just your scent. People of your class come to me for only one thing. I have had many visitors these last few days, since the announcement of the incense-blending competition. So, what manner of perfume do you require, my lord?"

He felt deflated at her brisk tone. "I… I want something special."

Nose made an amused sound. "That's unusual. Most people feel the need to cling to the familiar." She moved from his side and walked over to her worktable. Her fingers numbered the bottles on the lower shelf, counting from one end and then the other.

"I can blend a thousand different variations on a single note. It's my speciality." Nose selected a bottle. "It makes the wearer feel safe, yet fashionable. See for yourself."

She uncapped the bottle and held it out to him. Hiromasa went closer and took a tentative sniff. The scent was familiar, a gaudy, extravagant fragrance that relied heavily on spikenard and frankincense, but as he took another sniff, he realised something had been added to the blend, something that softened and warmed it.

He straightened. "I thought it was His Excellency's current perfume, but…"

"You have a good nose. This is the blend he will wear for winter." Nose closed the bottle and replaced it on the shelf. "The Chancellor has always worn a variation on that scent. He feels secure with it. I would even suggest that he draws strength from it."

"Because of its familiarity." Hiromasa frowned as he said it, wondering if that was why he liked Seimei's scent so much, why he sought to recreate it. Certainly there were many times at court when he missed his friend and wished he had even an ounce of Seimei's cleverness. Perhaps if he wore Seimei's scent, he'd feel inspired and intelligent.

"What you do is amazing," he said honestly, "but I don't want a variation of a perfume that already exists. I want something else. I wonder… can you recreate the scent of a particular person?"

Nose turned her head sharply, her milk-white eyes gleaming. Her expression registered surprise as well as curiosity. "You want a person's own unique body scent, and not the perfume they wear to disguise it?"

"Yes. Can it be done?"

"Why do you want it?"

Hiromasa hesitated, uncertain of how to reply. "Ah… because this person always smells good. It's impossible to dislike this scent, actually, even if it seems a little strange at first. It – it's one of those scents that captures your attention. It has so many layers, and though you think you're so clever to recognise ten fragrances in it, there's still more that you'll never identify." He paused, letting out a breath. "It's impossible to forget."

"Like the person who owns it?"

Hiromasa was glad she couldn't see him blush. "Perhaps."

Nose busied herself at her worktable, arranging empty saucers in front of a large copper bowl. "It is my experience that a man always remembers the body scent of his lovers. What your nose finds pleasing, others may find disgusting."

"Not in this instance." Hiromasa knew all too well that Seimei received a startling amount of attention at court. Perhaps it wasn't entirely to do with his scent, but Hiromasa was sure it helped.

Nose paused. "This person is so well-loved?" She sounded disbelieving.

"Well… not loved, exactly, but…"

"Desired." She tilted her head and chuckled low in her throat. "You want me to create the scent of desire."

He felt confused. He desired Seimei, of course he did, but he hadn't considered the full erotic possibilities of what wanting Seimei's scent could mean. Hiromasa struggled with it, feeling vulnerable. "I don't want the scent of desire. It would be false. I just want the scent of this person."

Nose still chuckled. "People come to me and ask for a perfume that will win a contest, or to ensnare a lover. They seem to think that false fragrance is preferable to a real scent. They ask me to trade in illusions. But you… ah, my friend, you want the biggest illusion of all."

"I just want a scent!"

She stopped laughing, her face becoming serious. "Then you shall have it. Come, let me show you how we will manage it. You will tell me, if you please, if there is a perfume you recognise."

Nose reached up and took five bottles from the middle shelf. She placed them in front of the copper bowl and removed the stoppers. In a saucer, she mixed the contents of three bottles together until a fragrance, delicate and subtle, stained the air around them.

Hiromasa leaned closer and inhaled. He knew this scent. It had a vague familiarity about it, something that reminded him of a woman he'd known. He frowned, trying to recall her, waiting for the scent to sharpen his memory.

"Smell the perfume through this," Nose suggested. A bottle was pressed into his hand. The scent that emanated from it was strong and dark, almost physical. Hiromasa drew it in, catching the other perfume as if from a distance.

"It's…" he began, the scent-memory closer. "Oh, I almost know it!"

"This will help." Nose added a little of the fifth bottle to the mix.

Hiromasa gasped as all five notes came together to create a body scent he recognised. "My lady of Cloudy Days!"

"Is that what you call her?" Nose sounded amused again. "But yes, this is her personal scent. I'm glad you recognised it."

"So it's possible."

"It is." Nose watched him with her sightless eyes. "It may seem simple, merely a matter of mixing a few scents to create another, but to make a personal scent… it can become complicated. These bottles," and she indicated the five on the table, "are blends of numerous other perfumes. A perfume that will win a court contest may have sixteen ingredients. To make the scent of a person, it could take dozens, even hundreds of ingredients. It's expensive and it takes time."

"I don't mind. I can afford it."

Nose tilted her head. "Are you sure?"

Hiromasa had the impression that she wasn't talking about expense.

"You see, in order to create a person's scent, I need to know them," Nose continued. She smiled, her voice lowering. "I have to get close to them – as close as possible." Her eyes glittered. "Taking someone else's scent… it's a kind of theft."

Hiromasa brushed the comment aside, ignoring the fact that he'd had a similar thought yesterday in Seimei's house. While the morality of stealing someone's personal scent didn't immediately concern him, the idea of Nose going anywhere near Seimei concerned him considerably.

"I'm sorry, but that's impossible. This person is – uh, they're very private."

Nose tidied away the bottles and emptied the saucer onto the ground. "A private person, yet you can reach them."

Hiromasa heard the catch of interest in her voice. She probably thought he was having an affair with the Empress. He winced.

"Tell me," she said, "do you ask for this scent only because of the contest?"

"Yes." Hiromasa paused. "No."

She waited.

"Maybe," he began hesitantly, testing his thoughts as he spoke them aloud, "maybe if I understood the scent, I would understand the person."

"Perhaps." Nose shrugged, looking as if his answer had disappointed her somehow. "Anyway, my lord, if this is truly what you wish, and if this person is truly so private, then you must help me."

"How?"

She smiled. "Bring me a piece of their clothing."

Hiromasa thought of the white glossed under-robe and blushed.

Nose seemed to sense the direction of his thoughts. "Yes," she said, her smile suddenly lascivious, "the more intimate the better. And if they've had sex in it, that would be perfect."


	5. Chapter 5

This time, the gates of Seimei's house did not open for him. Hiromasa had to shove hard before the door gave even an inch. When he stumbled into the warm dusk-lit garden, he tripped over a crawling vine he was sure had never been there before. The path seemed to have changed its course, too. He found himself splashing through the stream before he regained his sense of direction.

A single light glowed over the veranda. Seimei sat in his usual position against the outside pillar. He wore his hunting costume with a deep violet robe underneath, the silk almost like black water in the shadows. A cup sat before him, his fan folded beside it. He did not move, did not speak: he simply watched Hiromasa approach.

 

"Seimei, you're home!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Hiromasa wished he could take them back. Such a greeting implied that Seimei hadn't been at home the last time he'd called. He didn't know if Mitsumushi had told Seimei about his previous visit. He hoped not.

He glanced around guiltily; afraid he'd see the discarded under-robe still lying where he'd abandoned it. Of course it wasn't there – the shikigami would have tidied it away. At least, he hoped it had been the shikigami.

"What are you looking for?"

Seimei's voice, deep and sonorous, made Hiromasa jump. "Ah… the sake jug."

"Here." Seimei pushed it forward from its place by his side. He murmured something and another cup appeared in front of Hiromasa's usual place.

Hiromasa sat and poured sake for them both. Seimei's quietness made him feel flustered. He cast about for a topic of conversation, and said lamely, "I hear you've been forecasting the weather."

"For the Chancellor's incense competition." Seimei smiled a little. "He asked me to summon the winter. Imagine that. As if a yin yang master could be so presumptuous as to interfere with nature."

Hiromasa almost spilled his sake. "And you are never presumptuous."

Seimei ignored his own drink and lifted his fan. He played with it, unfolding it with slow, percussive deliberation. "Never," he said lightly. "Unlike you."

This time, Hiromasa choked on the wine. He drew back, slopping the sake over his lap. Guilt spread through him as he realised what Seimei meant. He struggled with his thoughts, not quite ready to discuss what had happened between them. He knew he should broach the subject, but Hiromasa feared his lack of subtlety. The longer he thought about it, the more confused he felt.

Seimei waited, head cocked as if he could hear Hiromasa's inner turmoil. When Hiromasa remained silent, tongue-tied with embarrassment, Seimei gave a tiny sigh.

"Court contests are so tedious." Seimei snapped the fan closed as he returned to the original topic of conversation. He gave Hiromasa a playful, challenging look. "Although perhaps making incense is the ideal use of most noblemen. Spending hours mashing fragrance into stinking dung-coloured balls must be enlightening, especially for His Excellency the Chancellor."

"The Empress," Hiromasa corrected. "The contest is Her Majesty's idea."

"Does the distinction matter?"

"It does, Seimei. It matters very much." The sake ceased to have any appeal. Hiromasa set down his cup. "Maybe it doesn't matter to you, but to those at court… it's our way of life."

The playful expression vanished. "You're right. It doesn't matter to me."

"If you're going to be rude, I will go home," Hiromasa declared.

Seimei lifted his eyebrows in an elegant arch.

Flustered, Hiromasa glanced at the darkening sky. How had he forgotten the lateness of the hour? "Ah," he said. "It's after sunset. The city gates will be closed."

"Such a minor detail didn't stop you last time."

Here was another opening. Hiromasa took a deep breath and prayed he didn't make a fool of himself. "Seimei, about that night…"

His friend held up a hand. "The white chrysanthemum was indication enough. I should have been more gracious in my surrender."

Hiromasa stared. "The white chrysanthemum?"

He remembered picking the flower from the garden; a delicate distraction for his fingers to worry at while he'd attempted to frame a seduction born of nothing more than opportunity and drunken lust. At the time it had been meaningless, but now he recalled that a white chrysanthemum indicated truth. He'd revealed his feelings even before he'd realised them himself.

Seimei smiled. "It's been a long time, and I am accustomed to being alone."

Realisation pierced the fog of Hiromasa's confusion. He'd known at the time that Seimei had been willing enough, but the blank reply to his morning-after poem had made Hiromasa fear the worst. The gnawing sense of guilt he'd been carrying for the past month lifted. Hiromasa groped for words, wishing he could express himself in clever, poetic terms. Instead, all he managed was: "I never meant to hurt you."

"Your avoidance afterwards hurt much more."

Hiromasa groaned. "I'm such a fool."

Seimei didn't contradict him. He spread his fan again, opening it completely. "I know people gossip about me. I don't care if they talk. But it might harm you if they thought we…"

"They already think we're lovers!" Hiromasa burst out. The relief of admitting it made him feel weak, and he leaned against a pillar. "You're not at court enough to hear them. The comments, the whispers, the pointed questions… it's no more than when they're probing about a lady, but when it's about you, I – I don't like it. I can deflect questions about a woman, but I have no experience in avoiding comments about you."

"You can't dissemble." Seimei touched the edge of the fan to his lips. "You don't have the gift for it."

Hiromasa stared at the stiff folds of dark speckled paper against the pale softness of skin and felt the first stirrings of desire. "A man should not lie."

Seimei's smile turned sad. "A clever man will."

"Then I am glad to be stupid!"

"Hiromasa."

Ignoring his friend's tone, Hiromasa splashed more sake into his cup. His hands shook. It was easy for Seimei to be sarcastic. The trait didn't come naturally to Hiromasa. He took a sip of sake, washing away his hurt retort. "Anyway, they can say what they like. Apart from that night, it's not as if it's true. I've hardly seen you recently."

"We saw one another yesterday, at the palace." Seimei stroked his thumb over the fan. He lifted his gaze. "You were watching me."

Hiromasa felt pinned. "I…"

"You wanted me."

Helpless, Hiromasa leaned towards him. His head swam, desire and sake heating his blood. "Yes." The admission was too easy. "But I can't do that at court."

Seimei half-closed the fan. "Of course not. So you do it to Lady Winter Moon or whomever it is you're amusing yourself with now."

The tone was light, but the words rang with jealousy. Scarcely able to believe it, Hiromasa protested, "It's different."

"Yes."

The fan snapped shut. Seimei tossed it onto the floor, watching it clatter amongst a pile of paper dolls.

Hiromasa felt the tension come between them. He shifted uncomfortably, wishing he knew the way to break his friend's reserve. "Seimei…"

"You don't come to see me any more." An indefinable emotion flashed in Seimei's eyes, brilliant and fleeting, a stab in the dark. "It seems that these days, you only come here when you want something."

Hiromasa looked at him and frowned. "That's not true."

Seimei smiled a little, sad and weary. "Isn't it?"

That gave him pause. Hiromasa thought for a moment, counting back all the visits he'd made here in the past few months. Long before the Mid-Autumn Festival, he'd been sent to Seimei on several occasions on behalf of the imperial family or at the request of noblemen who professed themselves too squeamish to call in person upon a yin yang master. Then there was the time when Seimei had repeatedly refused the summons of the Bureau of Divination, until in desperation they'd begged Hiromasa to intervene. And before that, there was the occasion when one of Hiromasa's former lovers had told him that her husband was possessed and would he please ask his mysterious, intriguing friend Lord Seimei to banish the demon…

Hiromasa realised that not once in the past quarter-year had he visited Seimei just for the pleasure of his company. Ashamed of his lapse, he said, "You're right. But you could come and visit me instead."

Seimei wrinkled his nose. "I don't like being inside the city if I can help it."

"Not even to visit me – your friend?"

"Ah, yes. My friend."

Hearing the note of bitterness in Seimei's voice, Hiromasa said, "I don't know why you're so upset."

"Perhaps because, while I'm obliged to work with the Chancellor, I'm reminded daily of how different we are."

It felt like a rebuke rather than an observation. Hiromasa was reminded of Nose, and recalled why he'd come to visit Seimei. He blushed, aware that he'd done it again. He wasn't here to seek his friend's company but to steal something from him in order to win a court contest.

At that moment, Hiromasa felt lower than an insect.

He thought of Nose and her hut amongst the common people outside the city walls. It seemed natural to compare her situation to Seimei's. He'd never considered it before, but now Seimei had remarked on their differences, it seemed obvious.

"We are different," Hiromasa said slowly, still thinking. "But you choose to live outside court life. If you wanted it, you know you'd be made welcome…"

"Ha." Seimei closed his eyes as if bored with the discussion. He leaned back against the pillar with a deep sigh. "And you know I don't want to be part of the court."

"So you live here." Hiromasa waved a hand around him. "Your garden is wild. Your house is filled with arcane things and peculiar spirits. Your estate is neither in the city nor in the countryside. You're noble by birth but also…"

He stopped, too embarrassed to continue.

Seimei gave a gentle chuckle at the pause. "Also…"

"You're a civilised man who doesn't behave in a civilised fashion."

"Ah."

"You're impossible to pin down."

"On the contrary." Seimei opened his eyes and looked at him, apparently guileless. "I am extraordinarily easy to pin down."

"Seimei. Be serious."

"I am." Seimei got to his feet, his shadow falling over Hiromasa. "I'm very serious." He unfastened the collar of his hunting costume and took off his lacquered hat. Both items fell to the floor in a soft heap.

Hiromasa stared at him in silence.

Seimei smiled. "It is cooler indoors."

* * * *

The interior of the house lay silent, the warmth of the evening air stirred by a gentle breeze from somewhere. Heart pounding, Hiromasa followed Seimei around the screens and curtains to the dais of the bed. Last time he'd been here, it had been dark. Now, although shadows pressed around them, the light from the veranda gave off enough filtered illumination for him to see Seimei's smile.

Seimei murmured something and a lamp flickered into life.

It was too bright. Hiromasa wet his fingers and pinched out the wick, leaving them together in the semi-darkness.

Seimei chuckled. "Suddenly you're shy."

"Yes." Hiromasa's mouth felt dry; his voice sounded husky. "Last time was not the way I'd imagined it."

"Oh?" Seimei faced him, one hand at the neck of his violet robe. The silk looked black in the half-light, Seimei's fingers and throat pale against the cloth. "I'm flattered you'd imagined it at all. I thought you'd acted on a drunken whim."

Hurt, Hiromasa asked, "You think I'm that fickle?" When he received no reply, his spirits plummeted further. "Seimei!"

"I shouldn't tease you." With a soft laugh, Seimei knelt on the sleeping mat. "This time I am quite willing to be seduced."

Self-conscious now, Hiromasa mumbled, "I don't know how."

Seimei looked at him. "You knew how on the last occasion."

"I didn't mean…" Aware he was tangling himself in words at a time when he least needed them, Hiromasa nevertheless tried to explain. "Seimei, you're the first man I've been with since I was a youth. Back then it was curiosity and lust and…"

"And this isn't any of those things?"

The question was gentle, but Hiromasa winced inwardly. He remembered why he'd come here. Seimei offered more than he wanted to take, but the temptation was too great to resist. For the rest of the night he would forget Nose and the contest and life outside this room. Thinking too much had always proved a dangerous pastime. Now he wouldn't think. He would feel and taste and do, and he would let his emotions guide him.

His guilt withered as he looked down. It seemed wrong that Seimei should kneel before him, but Hiromasa remained standing, enjoying the rush of desire brought on by their unequal positions.

"This is…" He stopped, unable to remember what they'd been talking about. "You," he said. "I want you."

An odd expression crossed Seimei's face. Hiromasa had only seen it once before, the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival. Not quite lust and not quite wariness, it was a wholly human look.

"Touch me," said Seimei. He tilted back his head, offering his throat.

Hiromasa stared, unmoving. In the half-light, Seimei's skin seemed paler than the under-robes laid closest to his body. A hesitation, and then Seimei unfastened the sash around his waist. The quadruple layer of silks loosened, revealing more of the column of his neck. He shifted his shoulders back, the robes slipping to circle his upper arms.

Now Hiromasa wished for the lamp's brilliance. He wanted to see Seimei without distraction. The play of twilight and shadow teased him. It wasn't enough to look. Hiromasa wanted to touch, to taste, to cover himself in Seimei's scent.

He knelt, feeling the hardness of the floor through the bedding. Seimei waited for him, motionless. Only his breathing betrayed his need, a soft, rapid whisper between parted lips.

This time, Hiromasa wanted to be gentle. He touched Seimei's knees, slid his fingers the length of his thighs and caught hold of the loosened sash. He pulled, and Seimei swayed towards him. Hiromasa murmured, perhaps in reassurance, perhaps in love, and pressed a kiss to the side of Seimei's neck where it curved into his shoulder.

Seimei gasped, the sound loud in the silence.

Hiromasa let the kiss draw out as he tasted Seimei's flesh. He felt Seimei shudder, felt the heat rise to warm his pale skin. Hiromasa used his teeth, almost biting, then licked at the tender flesh. He urged Seimei closer and kissed his throat between the parted layers of silk. He lingered there, his lips kiss-forming words he couldn't bring himself to say aloud.

Seimei whimpered, his head going back to offer more. Hiromasa pushed the violet robe down from Seimei's shoulders, catching the under-layers of white and light blue silk together. The fabric rustled as it twisted around Seimei's arms, trapping him.

Hiromasa licked along the line of Seimei's collarbone then traced down his chest. Seimei's skin tasted different here, delicate then solid. His scent, so elusive at his throat, grew stronger. Hiromasa nuzzled after it, wanting to taste it. He licked at Seimei's nipples, feeling them harden into peaks on his tongue; then dipped lower.

Still on his knees, Seimei bent backwards until his head touched the bedding, his body arched and vulnerable. His scent deepened, mixing with the stronger smell of arousal. Hiromasa chased it, sliding his tongue around and into Seimei's navel. He pushed aside the trailing silks to expose the rest of his body, pale and warm and beautiful.

Hiromasa hesitated, aware that he was still fully clothed. He tore at the ties of his hakama and shoved the silk down to his knees; snatched off his court cap and tossed it aside, then resumed feasting on Seimei's body.

The scent had changed again. Hiromasa felt Seimei tremble, his thighs and belly taut as he tilted his hips upwards in wanton invitation.

Hiromasa lowered his head and whispered kisses over Seimei's damp skin. He felt shy, conscious that he hadn't done this for many years. He nuzzled at Seimei's cock and felt it jerk in response. Hiromasa licked it, guided by instinct and the desire to please. He wanted Seimei to enjoy this; wanted to make amends for his greedy thoughtlessness the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival.

Seimei made a pleading noise when Hiromasa slid his tongue around the tip of his cock. The sound became a groan as Hiromasa parted his lips and took him in deep.

Hiromasa slipped his arms beneath Seimei, holding him as he collapsed backwards slowly. His legs splayed until he laid flat, his silks snarled around him. Hiromasa stayed with him, on him, keeping him in his mouth, sucking and tasting.

He felt drenched in scent: heat and musk and sweat and Seimei. Hiromasa let Seimei's cock slide free of his lips and nuzzled at the base of it, his tongue curving through glossy curls of hair to nudge at his balls. He moved lower, searching out taste as the scent became earthy and secretive.

"No," gasped Seimei. "Hiromasa…"

Hiromasa retreated and turned him onto his front. Seimei mewled and fought at the tangle of his clothes, trapped in the silken folds. As he struggled, Hiromasa sat back on his heels. Lust made him impatient. He seized Seimei and dragged him onto his lap, his thighs spread wide by Hiromasa's knees.

The layered robes twisted and knotted between them. Hiromasa pulled him closer, Seimei's back pressed to his chest. Seimei's breath caught, his body heaving under Hiromasa's splayed hands. Hiromasa caressed the length of his torso, gathering the under-robe and drawing it across to cover Seimei's nakedness.

Holding him in place with one hand, Hiromasa wrapped the other around Seimei's cock and stroked it through the thin layer of glossed white silk. Tension built, sharp and aching. Hiromasa felt the silk dampen around his fingers, felt the hard, hot thrust of Seimei's cock.

Seimei hung his head and made a desperate sound. Hiromasa squeezed him, knowing the sensual torment of silk rubbed roughly over sensitive flesh. His own erection pulsed beneath his clothes, his body tight with need. Soon he'd free himself and plunge into Seimei, but for now he concentrated on sensation – on Seimei's body writhing in his embrace, his helpless gasps and the sour-sweet scent of sex.

With a shudder, Seimei broke apart and came. Hiromasa felt the wet heat of his seed spill through the under-robe and slide down Seimei's belly. He stroked him again, catching the aftershock, then gathered their robes together.

Silk and brocade lifted and parted to reveal naked skin. Hiromasa pulled Seimei back against him. His erection brushed the taut softness of Seimei's inner thighs. Hiromasa smeared his palm with semen and saliva, and stroked it over his cock.

"Now," he said, and thrust up as Seimei sank down.

Seimei hissed, muscles flexing to accommodate his full length. He raised and lowered, slow at first and then faster, catching a rhythm pleasing to them both.

Hiromasa gasped, lost in tight heat and the basic, brutal urge to fuck. He twisted his right hand in the trailing silk of the violet robe and hauled him closer. "Seimei," he growled. "Is this good? Will you scream for me like last time?"

Seimei half gasped, half chuckled. "Don't wake Mitsumushi."

Hiromasa put his free hand over Seimei's mouth. He felt sharp teeth and a lick of saliva as Seimei bit him. In retaliation, he kissed the back of Seimei's neck. The skin was sweet there, warm and vulnerable. Hiromasa tasted the sweat-damp tendrils of hair and thrust his tongue against the soft skin, tracing along Seimei's hairline.

He felt Seimei tremble; heard him make a tiny noise of compliance, a sound animal and frantic. It spurred him on, made him vicious, and he thrust hard enough to make Seimei groan with pleasure.

"Now," Hiromasa said again. "Together."

* * * *

A long time afterwards, when they both lay naked amidst flurries of silk and brocade, Seimei asked, "Why have you been avoiding me?"

Hiromasa pressed close, feeling their bodies stick together with sweat. He licked the back of Seimei's neck. "Because of this," he answered honestly. "Because I don't know what I'm doing with you, and yet I can't do without you."

He waited for a sarcastic response. To his surprise, Seimei remained quiet. Only when the silence between them spun out into a kind of pain did Seimei speak.

"Does it feel so wrong?"

"No. That's the problem." Hiromasa moved away enough to stroke the line of Seimei's back. "I like women, but I…"

Seimei turned his head, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. "What?"

"Nothing." Hiromasa felt himself blush. "I should be more decisive. I should choose one way or the other."

"You can have both. Plenty of men do. Women, too." Seimei yawned, as delicate as a cat. "You don't have to choose."

"It seems unstable to me. Wouldn't you rather have something definite?"

"What I want is immaterial."

"No, it's not." Hiromasa lay back with a sigh. Accustomed to the ready chatter of women after sex, Seimei's questions – so simple to answer and yet so difficult – taxed him at a time when he didn't want to think. Now conscious of their nakedness, he rearranged the discarded robes, covering them to the waist.

They lay in silence. Hiromasa wished he could sleep, but was troubled by the thought of what he had to do in the morning. The conversations he'd stumbled through earlier rang around his head until he was prompted to ask, "Why do I always have to come to you?"

Seimei sounded sleepy. "Because it's too hard for me to come to you."

"I don't understand." Hiromasa frowned into the darkness. "It's just like you to be… wilfully perverse about this."

"Ah. But we follow the standard pattern, do we not? The lover goes to his beloved. The beloved waits in shadows, behind screens and walls."

"You're not like that."

Seimei made a noise of agreement, or it could have been of disagreement: Hiromasa couldn't tell. He waited, hoping for more, but Seimei was silent, though not yet asleep.

"I don't know what you want from me."

"And I'm afraid of what I want from you."

Hiromasa heard the note of longing in Seimei's voice. It startled him, made him feel small and panicked as well as warm and confident. He knew Seimei cared about him, but he hadn't realised it went as far as this.

"You can't be afraid." Hiromasa rolled onto his side and drew Seimei closer. He muffled his voice against the curve of Seimei's neck. "You know everything."

Seimei gave a soft, amused sound. "Not quite everything. Some things will always be a mystery."


	6. Chapter 6

Nose knelt on the earthen floor of her hut, the copper bowl in front of her, surrounded by an array of jars and vials. The warming, gentle fragrances that had permeated the air on his last visit had faded. Now Hiromasa smelled sharp, acrid scents: burnt flesh, the whiff of rotten vegetables, and the stink of decay.

"You work fast, my lord." Nose looked at him from beneath the matted tangle of her hair. Her blind eyes flickered, and she lifted her head, nostrils flaring. "I can smell sex on you. In fact, you reek of it."

Hiromasa felt his blush reach his ears. Unable to think of anything to say – there seemed little point denying what he'd done – he remained silent. He approached her, taking Seimei's under-robe from beneath his cloak. She rose on her knees and made a crooning sound, her hands reaching out to grasp the garment. Before she touched it, Hiromasa held back.

She sensed his hesitation. "Afraid, my lord? Of me – or of your lover?"

Pride stiffened his resolve. "You will make me this scent." He sounded more confident than he felt.

Nose laughed and snatched the under-robe from him. "I will. But let me smell…" She crumpled the glossed silk in her hands and held it to her face, inhaling deeply. A moment later, she raised her head, a startled expression on her face. "A man."

Hiromasa fidgeted.

She pawed at the robe, turning it inside out and sniffing like a dog on the trail of a rabbit. Hiromasa watched her, his nose wrinkling in distaste as she snuffled at the white silk. She spread the garment wide, tracking the scent as he'd done that first time, from collar to underarms and along its length.

Nose paused over one area and licked at the silk, her croon becoming a moan of deep satisfaction.

Shocked, Hiromasa realised what she must be tasting with such enjoyment. Nausea rose in his throat and he strode forward, ready to tear the robe away from her.

Nose rolled sideways, clutching the robe tight. When Hiromasa tugged at it, she refused to let go. Her sightless eyes rolled back in her head and she cackled, a blaze of mad glory lighting her features. "A fox! You want to trap the essence of a fox!"

She sucked at the silk again, a look of ecstasy on her face. She giggled, her fingers loosening their clasp. "A vixen's child, a powerful half-fox… Abe no Seimei."

Hiromasa snatched at the robe again. "That's just a rumour."

"It's the truth." Nose scrambled to her feet and hugged herself, careless that she dislodged several jars of perfume from their neat rows. "Ah, Seimei. Now I have you…"

"That's enough. Give it back!" Hiromasa seized the silk and pulled it away from her. He was shaking as he folded the garment. The wet patch of Nose's saliva made him grimace. What she'd done seemed obscene. The second-hand tasting of desire, her greed and pleasure in tasting Seimei's essence, roused both disgust and a sense of unease.

Perhaps this hadn't been a good idea after all. What did he know of Nose, except a recommendation from one woman of his acquaintance? He couldn't believe a pretty blind girl could do him harm, but he'd been wrong about people before.

Hiromasa stepped back. As he did so, he heard the clatter of ceramic at his feet, and realised he'd knocked over several of the bottles arranged on the floor.

Nose hissed in dismay and dropped to her knees, scrabbling in the dirt to rescue her tumbled scents.

"I'm sorry, please forgive me. Let me help." Hiromasa stuffed Seimei's robe back inside his cloak and crouched on the ground. He righted the bottles, aware of the perfume rising from one that had lost its lid. Curious, he lifted the small round container and passed it beneath his nose, inhaling the fragrance.

"These are not the same perfumes you were mixing when I last visited," he said. Recognition tickled at his senses. He frowned, trying to focus. "I know this one. It's…"

He hesitated, aware of Nose crouched watching him with her sightless eyes. Her face was pale and her mouth half open, and she leaned forward as if to urge him on.

"It's Lord Ki's scent." Hiromasa glanced at the bottle. "His personal scent."

Nose sat back, clapping her hands. "Exactly! Ah, you do have a good nose. Such a shame you're a nobleman. Here…" She groped for another bottle and held it towards him. "Who is this?"

Hiromasa uncapped it and sniffed. The smell wrapped around him like a heavy cloud, the fragrance overpowering. Then he noticed sharper notes and an aftertaste of cloying sweetness. The scent suggested a personality and conjured an image.

"Lord Mibu." He jammed the stopper in the bottle and cast it aside, then wriggled his nose with the back of his hand. Mibu had a reputation for indolence, cruelty and greed. Hiromasa had never smelled his true body scent before, but had recognised it as the odour that lingered beneath the charming floral perfumes he wore at court.

His aptitude for discerning scents disturbed him, but Nose seemed delighted. She nodded, as if he were a good pupil and she a teacher. "Very good," she murmured in praise, and held out a third bottle. "And this?"

This time he knew it immediately, even though he hadn't been intimate with the woman in question. The scent smelled of sour milk and camphor, damp earth and sadness. "Lady Akane, a confidante of the Empress. She lost a child last autumn and still grieves for it. Her despair is plain to everyone who sees her."

Nose dipped her head in acknowledgement. "Her body scent bears the marks of her sorrow." She pushed the remaining bottles towards him. "Smell them all."

Hiromasa obeyed, identifying the next two scents with ease before stumbling over the sixth. As he puzzled over it, he realised how ridiculous he must seem – that he, a high-ranking nobleman and one of the Guardians of the City, should so easily be beguiled by a commoner's praise as they sat on the dirt floor of a filthy hovel!

Suddenly uncomfortable, Hiromasa named the scent he held and replaced the stopper with a decisive gesture. He placed the bottle in front of Nose and got to his feet. She must have heard the rustle of his silks, for she looked up, her blank gaze flicking over him as if she could see.

After a moment of silence, she said, "It's rare to find a courtier with such sensitivity. Usually they pretend. That's why they come to me. Their scent is part of their pretence. I can smell their duplicity before they enter my home. But you…" She paused as if measuring her words. Her nostrils flared. "You have no deceit in you. Little wonder you caught the biggest liar of all. Innocence is an irresistible snare to one such as he."

Startled by the pronouncement, Hiromasa stared at her. "The biggest liar…? You can't mean Seimei. He's honest. Too honest, sometimes."

Nose folded her hands in her lap. "He is half-fox. Foxes are cunning, false-hearted creatures. Men are almost as bad. The offspring of a man and a fox cannot be trusted."

"I trust him."

"Then you are a fool."

Hiromasa gave a merry laugh. "I've been told that before."

Nose snorted. "Enjoy him while you can."

Her words seemed to cast a chill in the air. Hiromasa shivered. He hadn't given any real thought to the future shape of his relationship with Seimei. He'd simply assumed that Seimei would always be there, that they'd always be together, as inseparable as from the day they'd first met.

Now he realised it might not be the case. The boundaries of their friendship had altered in ways he didn't truly understand. Hiromasa shifted uneasily on his feet and changed the subject. "These personal scents… why do you make them?"

Nose looked at him, a smile curving her mouth. "For the same reason you asked for Abe no Seimei's scent."

"For the contest? You made them for someone else?" Hiromasa felt defeated. His idea hadn't been unique after all.

"I don't care about your silly little court contests." Nose began gathering up the bottles, placing them inside the copper bowl. "My purpose far exceeds a contest."

Hiromasa leaned close to her. "What is your purpose?"

Nose looked coy. He knew that expression. He'd seen it dozens of times on the faces of his ladies when they wished to tease him by withholding information. He also knew how to respond to it. Begging, bribery and threats of tickling didn't work – not that he'd resort to such methods with Nose. Instead, Hiromasa sat back and waited.

A long moment passed. The coy look slipped. She may be a commoner, but she was still a woman, and Hiromasa knew women. He knew Nose was annoyed he hadn't repeated his question. He remained quiet a little longer then prompted, "Well?"

She seemed relieved that he'd broken the silence. "If you wear someone's personal scent, you smell like them," Nose explained. "They will be drawn to you without ever realising why. They will let you close; they will trust you. And when they trust you…"

"Yes?"

"You can do whatever you like with them." Her sightless eyes gleamed with dark amusement. "Perfume seduces."

"Seduces?" Hiromasa echoed. He frowned, not entirely certain he understood her meaning.

Before he could ask for a further explanation, Nose's expression changed. Her posture became alert and she cocked her head as if listening to something. She rose to her feet, clearly agitated. "Someone is coming. You may wish to conceal yourself, unless you want one of your noble friends to know you've been commissioning incense from me for the contest."

Hiromasa didn't want that. He glanced around the untidy hovel and spied a tatter of grey cloth pulled across a shadowy part of the hut. He hid himself behind the curtain just as the door opened. He heard the newcomer step inside and heard an intake of breath – disgust, he thought, and then the visitor sneezed.

The grey cloth had a few holes worn through it. Hiromasa peered through the nearest one and saw a small figure wrapped in a dark cloak, a veil over her face. He wondered if all noblewomen visited Nose in disguise.

"Good day, my lady." Nose had resumed her position on the floor, her hands resting on the sides of the copper bowl. "I didn't expect you so soon."

The visitor came inside briskly. She showed no deference to Nose's blindness, walking past her as if she were an object rather than a person. The veiled woman marched around Nose, a tactic Hiromasa recognised as designed to intimidate.

"And I expected you would have finished it by now." The woman's voice was shrill with annoyance. "I've given you a bolt of the most costly twice-dyed indigo silk as well as enough rice to feed the whole of this miserable settlement for the rest of the year. I'm your most valuable customer and you know it."

The voice, even muffled by the veil, sounded familiar. Hiromasa held his breath as the woman approached his hiding-place. She turned before she reached him, but her perfume brushed through the air. The scent was more familiar than her voice. He recognised her as his mistress, Winter Moon.

Hiromasa jerked back from the hole in the curtain and clamped a hand over his mouth to silence his cry of dismay. He couldn't believe it. The Winter Moon he knew wept if a baby bird fell out of a tree. She was empty-headed and charming, nothing more than a good-natured flirt. But the woman who stood over Nose was cold and demanding, rude and arrogant.

He peeked through the curtain again as he tried to reconcile the two sides of his mistress. Winter Moon was pacing around Nose, her skirts and the ends of her long hair trailing in her wake. Every so often she tugged at her silks, making certain that no part of her dress touched the blind incense-blender.

"I am grateful for your patronage, my lady," Nose said calmly, "but you should know by now that a scent cannot be rushed."

Winter Moon waved a dismissive hand. "Don't lie to me! I've heard you can work miracles, that overnight you can make a perfume so sweet all who smell it will adore the wearer. I want that magic scent, Nose."

"You already ordered a scent for the court contest." Nose remained unmoving.

"I need another." Winter Moon looked down at her. "I need a scent to make a man fall in love with me."

Hiromasa bit his knuckles.

"Surely your charms are more than adequate to catch the man of your choosing," Nose said, a faint tinge of sarcasm colouring her tone.

Hiromasa shoved more of his hand into his mouth, afraid that he'd laugh out loud.

Winter Moon appeared not to notice the sarcasm. Instead, she preened as much as her disguise would allow. "You're right. My charms are considerable; everyone says so. But I need to be certain of my lover. There are rumours about him and his…" She paused, then finished with distaste, "his friend."

Nose chuckled. "Men are such faithless creatures. They seek their pleasure in the strangest places."

She stood and placed the copper bowl on her workbench then turned to the noblewoman. Nose smiled, her attitude as intimate and relaxed as if she'd been on good terms with Winter Moon all her life. Gesturing to the door, she said, "Shall we go out into the garden, my lady? I can make the magic scent for you, but you will need to choose which flowers you wish me to use as the top notes in the fragrance."

"Oh, of course. I think lavender and late autumn roses would be most suitable. They're part of my signature scent, you know."

Winter Moon continued babbling as she walked out of the hut. Nose felt her way to the door, then turned and looked towards his hiding-place.

Hiromasa straightened, realising that Nose was giving him the opportunity to remove himself from her home. He waited until their voices faded before he crept out from behind the curtain.

Hurrying for the door, he kicked something. It struck the wall and rolled back towards him. Hiromasa bent to retrieve it – one of the perfume bottles. He and Nose must have missed it earlier when they'd collected them together. About to drop it into the copper bowl, he felt a tug of curiosity. The stopper was sealed with wax. Whose scent was so precious it had to be sealed?

He flaked off the wax with his thumbnail and withdrew the stopper. Carrying it over to the door, he pressed against it, listening for the women as he lifted the bottle and inhaled the fragrance. He stood there, not quite able to identify it although it seemed very familiar. He took another, thoughtful sniff, certain it would come to him – and then it did.

Hiromasa almost dropped the bottle. The scent was his.


	7. Chapter 7

He found Seimei lazing on the veranda, his fan spread to shade his face from the sun. A sake jug and two cups rested beside him. Hiromasa navigated the overgrown path through the garden – it had changed again since last night, he was certain of it – and climbed the steps to stand over his friend.

The fan lowered enough for him to see Seimei's eyes. He looked pleased, the way a beloved should look the morning after. Under normal circumstances, and had he not been so muddled by guilt and worry, Hiromasa would have felt proud of his prowess.

Seimei closed his fan and propped his head on his hand. The sunlight seemed to glow from his pale skin, calling Hiromasa's attention to the faint but unmistakable shadows of bruising on Seimei's neck.

Hiromasa drew in a deep breath. The evidence of his desire started a fluttering sensation in the pit of his belly, half pleasure and half concern. He really must learn to control himself whenever he bedded Seimei.

He slipped a hand inside his cloak and hesitated. There seemed little point in prevaricating. Without flourish, he pulled out the white glossed under-robe and dropped it onto the veranda between them.

Seimei looked at it, then at him. "If you wanted a memento, I believe a lock of hair is considered sufficient."

"This isn't funny, Seimei."

"On the contrary, I'm excessively diverted." Seimei sat up, hugging his knees. "I knew you were a romantic, but to steal my clothes…"

"Seimei! Be serious!"

The mischief faded from Seimei's expression. With a flick of his fan, he indicated Hiromasa should sit. "Twice now you've left me the morning after, long before I woke. Did I fail to please?"

"It's not that." Hiromasa sank to his knees, aghast that Seimei should even think such a thing. "And I'm sorry I don't have a poem for you, but I – I think I've done something stupid."

"Indeed." Seimei raised his eyebrows. "Am I to infer from the fact you stole my under-robe that I am also involved in this something stupid you've done?"

"I think – perhaps… yes." Unable to look at him directly, Hiromasa fixed his gaze on Seimei's fan and told him everything, from Winter Moon begging him to enter the incense contest to the details of his last visit to Nose. His face flamed as he described how he'd made notes on Seimei's own scent and tried to replicate it at home. He cringed as he remembered how he'd eased the under-robe from beneath their bodies early that morning and taken it to Nose – and he felt his throat thicken with disgust as he related how Nose had reacted to the garment.

Seimei was silent for a long time afterwards. Hiromasa didn't dare raise his head, certain his friend would be looking at him with contempt. He watched Seimei's slender, elegant fingers toy with the fan before they stilled.

"Tell me one thing," Seimei said, his voice so soft the morning breeze almost stole it away, "when you came to me last night, did you just want my robe?"

Hiromasa jerked up his head. "I didn't come here to use you. What I felt – what I _feel_ – that's real. You must believe me, Seimei. I wouldn't… I've never seduced anyone for personal gain. You offered, I took."

"And if we hadn't slept together last night…"

Hiromasa glanced away. "I would have taken one of your robes somehow."

A pause. Seimei opened the fan and ran a finger along the top edge, following the zigzag of stiffened paper. "Is this contest so important to you?"

"Not in the way you understand things to be important." Hiromasa looked at him. "But it is important to me. It's a little thing, but even little things define us. Courtiers, I mean. It's different for you. You don't care. You…"

Seimei interrupted. "Why didn't you tell me what you wanted?"

"Because you despise the court. You'd think my request was frivolous."

"It is. But for you, I'd have granted it."

Hiromasa huffed. "No, I know what you'd have done. You'd have given me an incense that smelled heavenly until the day of the contest, when it would become as rank as rotten fish!"

Seimei chuckled and hid behind the fan. "Indeed I would."

"I wanted to win this contest fairly…"

"Of course. So you went to an incense-blender."

Hiromasa defended himself: "Nose makes incense for everyone at court."

"Ah, so it _is_ fair." Seimei lowered the fan, his eyes shining. "Hiromasa, surely you can see how foolish court life is, how utterly useless?"

"Yes. But it's my life. Am I a fool, and useless?"

"You are neither of those things." Seimei's gaze strayed to the garden, following the flittering path of Mitsumushi in her butterfly form. "Perhaps I am the fool to stay outside of your happy existence and poke fun at it. Still, what's done cannot be undone."

"You aren't angry with me?"

"What would be the point?" With a sigh, Seimei looked back at him. He smiled a little. "Besides, I can never stay angry with you for long. But come, tell me more about the scent you found."

"I can show you." Hiromasa shuffled closer.

Seimei chuckled. "Ah, Hiromasa, it seems we should add theft to your long list of talents. Let me see it."

Taking the bottle from inside his cloak, Hiromasa handed it over. "It's my scent, so how can it be theft?"

"Hiromasa!" The chuckle became a laugh. Seimei took the bottle and examined it closely. He held it to the light, shook it, tapped it, and then rolled it across his palms. "Interesting. It had no label?"

"None of them did," Hiromasa said, recalling the time he'd spent handling and sniffing the contents of the ceramic bottles. "I recognised half a dozen personal scents. She could have made more. The bottles were all plain, but this one was sealed with wax."

"Perhaps your scent wasn't quite finished." Seimei popped open the lid and inhaled. He stoppered the bottle and sat back, frowning. "Oh, this is… Hmm."

Hiromasa leaned forward. "What?"

Seimei hooked a finger in the collar of his cloak and drew him closer. He let go only when they touched. Hiromasa felt himself blushing again, hopelessly confused by what was happening.

Seimei lowered his head and nuzzled at Hiromasa's neck. "You must have a good nose. It's hard for a man to recognise his own body scent," he murmured, his voice pitched so low it sent shivers through Hiromasa. "Let me… mmm…"

Hiromasa remained still, aching with awareness. Seimei's scent and warmth tantalised him. He stared at Seimei's upswept hair and the curve of his ear, and felt his body respond with predictable speed. As Seimei continued to nuzzle him, Hiromasa wondered if it was too soon for them to go back to bed.

Seimei sat up straight. One tendril of hair had loosened during his actions, and now it fell across his face.

Hiromasa liked Seimei looking untidy. His mind gave him images of other occasions when his friend had looked dishevelled. He was enjoying the mental tableaux so much he didn't listen when Seimei spoke to him. Realising he'd missed something, Hiromasa coughed in embarrassment.

"What did you say?"

Seimei tucked the errant strand of hair behind his ear and gave him a quelling look. He tilted the bottle, recalling Hiromasa's attention to it. "I said, it's almost exact, but there's something missing. You opened the bottle before your scent had ripened."

"Ah." Hiromasa determined to focus on the subject at hand. He frowned at the bottle. "Nose said that wearing someone else's personal scent would make them trust the wearer. I'm worried she may intend to use her perfumes to get inside the palace and befriend various nobles. She has many clients – even the Chancellor himself uses her fragrances. What if she wants to steal from her patrons?"

Seimei looked thoughtful. "I wonder…" He handed back the bottle and stood. "Had you heard of this Nose before now? A woman of her talents must surely be well known at court, even if her existence is only talked of in whispers."

Hiromasa shook his head. "This is the first I've heard of her. But normally I pay little attention to such things."

"Perhaps you should ask one of your servants," Seimei suggested. "Ask now, while I fetch a few items from my study."

The idea of questioning his servants seemed novel. Most of the time, Hiromasa forgot they were there. He hurried through the garden and peered out onto the road where his ox-cart waited. Three menservants sat in the shade of the cart, urging on a pair of crickets wrestling on the ground. As soon as the men noticed his presence, the insects were separated and scooped into tiny boxes.

"Do you go home now, lord?" the ox-handler asked, bowing.

"Not yet, thank you." As Hiromasa approached, he noticed a stack of bowls on the ground by the cart. Seimei had obviously thought to give the men their morning rice, a task that should have been Hiromasa's duty as a master. Instead he'd walked his men from one side of the city to the other and back again, without even a thought for their comfort.

Feeling guilty, he gave his servants his most charming smile. "I'd just like to talk to you."

* * * *

Not long after, Hiromasa returned to Seimei's house with more information than he could process. Climbing onto the veranda, he said, "My servants know everything!"

"They usually do." Seimei didn't look up, intent on inking a pentacle onto a small square of paper. "What did you learn?"

"Nose started selling incense to low-ranking courtiers this year sometime during the Third Month. She asked only for small amounts of rice in exchange. Later, as she began making perfume for the higher ranks, her price increased and her competitors complained. There was talk of a number of incense-sellers banding together to drive her away, but nothing ever came of it."

"Interesting." Seimei finished the pentacle and wrote a series of obscure wriggling characters beneath it.

"My men said she must be a demon who used magic on her rivals, but maybe she took their personal scents and used them to gain the advantage, as she must plan to do at court." Hiromasa sat beside his friend and watched him add a few lines and dots to the unintelligible script.

"We'll see." Seimei folded back his right sleeve, then licked the back of the paper and attached it to the bottle. He stood, holding the bottle at arm's length, and waited.

Moments later, sparks streamed from the pentacle. Hiromasa exclaimed in shock. The sparks rained down over Seimei's skin, but he remained unflinching. Hiromasa made an inarticulate sound and flapped his sleeve at the sparks. He backed away when his brocades began to burn.

Thick black smoke choked the sparks, and then a character, written in fire, flashed through the darkness. The fire spread, consuming the pentacle. Seimei muttered something and tossed the bottle into the air. He caught it in his left hand then clamped his right hand over the flames. He hissed a chant before dropping the bottle, with the paper still smouldering, onto the veranda.

Seimei brushed off his hands, looking intrigued. "Well, well."

Hiromasa gulped as the pentacle burned itself out and the paper fluttered into ash. "What does that mean?"

"It means, my dear Hiromasa, that your servants were right. Nose is a demon."

"A demon!" Hiromasa toppled backwards. "Seimei! I didn't –"

"A scent-demon, to be precise." Seimei sat and adjusted his sleeve. He seemed pleased. "Ah, Hiromasa, you've involved us in something very remarkable. Scent-demons usually hunger for incense – they don't create it in exchange for rice and silk."

Hiromasa righted himself, smoothing his brocades across his lap. "So why would she give away the thing most precious to her?"

"That's what I want to know."

They were silent for a moment. Hiromasa thought back over his conversations with Nose. He said slowly, "It may be nothing, but when she mentioned personal scents, she spoke about… about seduction."

Seimei gave him a mischievous look. "She meant possession."

Uneasy, Hiromasa glanced at him. "Possession?"

"Yes." Seimei shifted forward onto his hands and knees and prowled towards him with a slow, languid sway. Hiromasa leaned back, suddenly breathless as Seimei moved over him, pinning him to the floor. "Was that why you did it, Hiromasa?" Seimei's voice lowered to a teasing purr. "Do you want to possess me?"

Hiromasa fought equal amounts of arousal and panic. "Seimei! How can you say that at a time like this!"

Seimei retreated, laughing.

Trying to regain his dignity, Hiromasa sat up. "I need a drink." He pulled the sake jug and cups towards him, and poured for them both. When he felt calm again, he said, "By 'possession', you mean…"

"I mean in every way." Seimei accepted a cup, smiling his maddening little fox-smile. He sipped at the sake then put it down. "A person's body scent is unique. It's a kind of spell…"

"Like a name?"

"Yes, but even more basic than that. Scent is animal. It works on humans without them realising it. Sometimes decisions are made purely because of scent." Seimei dipped his forefinger in his sake and ran it around the rim of the cup. "You may have an irrational hatred of someone just because of the way they smell. That's partly why you use incense to disguise your personal scent – to make yourself seem harmless; to gain the trust of others who find pleasure in that fragrance."

"Nose wants people to trust her."

Seimei nodded. "Imitate someone's body scent and the true owner will trust you, invite intimacies… allow possession." His eyes flashed. "Sexual possession – and spiritual, demonic possession. If she wishes it, Nose will be able to possess the entire court… including you and me."

"Ah." Hiromasa gazed down into his cup. "That's not good, is it?"

"A demon's power is greatly enhanced when it takes possession of humans," Seimei said, his voice light and easy. "A demon's power multiplied by possession of the entire court and channelled through the body of an exceptional yin yang master… that would be bad."

Lifting the cup to his lips, Hiromasa tried to match his friend's casual tone. "She could destroy the city, I suppose."

"She would destroy everything between the coast of Wakasa to the west and the shrine of Ise in the east."

Hiromasa choked on his sake. "So much!"

Seimei shrugged. "It would cause less damage if she didn't have my scent."

"Because you are exceptional." Hiromasa remembered Nose's excitement as she pawed at Seimei's under-robe. He looked at his friend. "She said you were a fox." It came out sounding accusatory. He corrected himself. "A half-fox."

Seimei smiled.

"Well?" Hiromasa demanded.

"Half-fox sounds terribly untidy." Seimei gave him a flirtatious glance over the rim of the wine-cup. "You of all people know I have only one tail."

"So you deny it? You're not a fox?"

"What do you think, Hiromasa?"

Exasperated, Hiromasa poured more sake. "I think you're avoiding the question."

Seimei laughed. It was such an infectious sound that after a moment Hiromasa joined in. With a shimmer of blue, Mitsumushi appeared beside them and giggled. The selection of flowers cradled in her arms spilled onto the veranda.

Hiromasa admired the splashes of colour. He inhaled their fragrance, pleased that she hadn't picked lavender and late autumn roses. He never wanted to smell that particular combination again.

"Seimei avoids the question!" Mitsumushi declared. She scattered the rest of her flowers between them. Another giggle and she was gone, vanishing into the house.

Hiromasa looked at the untidy bouquet of pink dahlias mixed with white chrysanthemums and red camellias. He caught his breath as he understood their meanings. Arranging the flowers into an abstract design, he murmured, "Good taste, truth, and love."

"It's not just servants who know everything," Seimei said softly.

Hiromasa spluttered. "_I_ was quiet last night. You, on the other hand…"

To his surprise, his friend looked abashed. Seimei picked up a camellia and twirled it by the stem. Changing the subject, he said, "I wonder why Nose wants all those scents."

"You already said. She means to possess the entire court."

Seimei pursed his lips. "No. There are easier ways to possess a human."

"Perhaps she wanted you all along."

"Doubtful. There was no guarantee you'd enter the perfume contest, and she certainly couldn't have predicted that you'd want to make my scent."

Hiromasa blushed. "You smell good."

"Thank you." Seimei smiled and took a chrysanthemum, twining the camellia's stem around it. "There's another reason she's doing this. Demons always act according to their nature. Nose is a scent-demon, so any magic she produces will take the form of perfume. Whatever her ultimate goal is, it must also be related to scent…"

He stopped, his eyes widening. Dropping the flowers, he jumped to his feet, his agitation obvious. "I am a fool!"

"Seimei?" Hiromasa rose as his friend hurried inside. Curious, he followed, stepping around a series of standing curtains until he reached a small room at the back of the house. The temperature changed, becoming cooler as he ventured into the shadows. He found Seimei kneeling before a large wooden chest, its lid flung open as he searched within for something.

Hiromasa glanced around the room and shivered. The air felt alive here, potent with the promise of old secrets and terrible mysteries. He dismissed his fanciful imaginings and moved closer to Seimei. "What is it? What are you looking for?"

"I found it." Seimei reared back from the chest, a box wrapped in faded blue silk held in his hands.

He stood, cradling the box against his body, and ushered Hiromasa from the room. They did not go far. Seimei stopped beside the dais of his bed and sank down onto it, setting the box on his knees. Looking up at Hiromasa, he said, "The most powerful scent of all is spirit-summoning incense."

"Spirit-summoning incense?" Hiromasa stared at the box, feeling a creeping sense of unease as Seimei unwrapped the cloth covering it.

"Many centuries ago in China," Seimei began, "an incense was created to summon the spirits of the dead. The secret of this incense was known to only a handful of scholars, who used it to ask the spirits to reveal prophecies. But as in life, the dead have their own agenda and are not always truthful. The spirits urged the living to take up their causes and seek revenge for ancient hurts. The living became puppets of the dead. Peaceful states erupted into war. As more people died, the spirits' power grew, and the living no longer knew where to look for guidance."

Hiromasa shuddered. "Seimei, that's horrible!"

"The King of Qin banned the use and making of spirit-summoning incense within his country. Soon his ministers and generals could think clearly again, free of the spirits' influence. The king saw how weak his rival states had become. He seized the opportunity and took them, one by one, and made an empire."

The blue silk unravelled across Seimei's knees. "The emperor worried that the children of his rivals would use spirit-summoning incense and rise up against him under the control of their murdered sires. To prevent this, he ordered the destruction of every book of wisdom, and when the scholars protested, he had them burned alive."

Speechless with horror, Hiromasa gazed at Seimei. As a youth he'd read and heard stories about the first Chinese emperor, but had given them no real thought. They'd seemed no more relevant to his life than the story of the Herdsman and the Weaving Maid. Now a link between himself and a long-dead tyrant sat contained within a box in Seimei's lap. Hiromasa swallowed and took a few steps backwards.

The box was made of interlocking pieces of cherry-wood. Seimei examined it, splaying his fingers to touch at different sections of the box. "It's been years since I opened this," he murmured, almost to himself.

Addressing Hiromasa again, he continued, "The knowledge of spirit-summoning incense almost died with the scholars, but one man hid a cache of incense balls. Many years later, a peasant discovered them by chance."

"What did he do?" Hiromasa asked. He was more interested in the story than in the contents of the box. The story seemed safer.

Seimei turned the box over. "The peasant burned one of the balls of incense and was visited by a spirit who told him the value of what he'd found. At the time, China was ruled by Emperor Wu of the Han dynasty, a man obsessed with immortality and magic. The death of his favourite concubine, Lady Li, had devastated the emperor. The peasant came to his palace and promised the emperor that he could see his beloved Lady Li again.

"Emperor Wu's advisers warned him not to involve himself with the summoning of spirits, but he ignored them. The peasant gave him an incense ball. The emperor lit the incense and focused on the thought of Lady Li. Soon he saw a form take shape within the smoke. At first it was nothing more than a cloud, but then colour and detail appeared – the spirit of Lady Li herself."

Seimei turned the box over again and frowned at it. "The emperor was overcome with joy at seeing his favourite. He called to her, but she seemed not to hear him. He begged her to speak to him, but she hid her face and wept. Anguished by her suffering, Emperor Wu rushed to comfort her – but when he seized the phantom in his arms, Lady Li vanished and became smoke once more."

"How sad!" Hiromasa's sympathies were more for the beautiful concubine than the grieving emperor.

"Emperor Wu rewarded the peasant with wealth, a title, and one of his daughters as a wife. The peasant handed over the entire cache of incense balls, and the emperor spent the rest of his days begging the spirit of Lady Li to return. After the emperor's death, palace officials confiscated the remaining incense and locked it away."

Seimei used his thumbs on the box, pressing down hard. Something clicked and a latch sprang out. "Ah, there it is."

Hiromasa backed away as Seimei opened the lid. When nothing leapt out of the box at them, he ventured closer and peered inside.

A crumbling black sphere the size of his palm nestled in layers of wadded silk. Unlike the incense balls he'd seen in braziers in his home or at the palace, this one sparkled as if it had starlight trapped inside it. A thin, barely discernible scent rose from it, the fragrance impossible for him to identify.

"This is from Xianyang, the former capital of China." Seimei gazed at the incense but did not touch it. "It was found in the ruins of the old palace, or so I was told."

The scent disturbed him on a level he didn't understand. Hiromasa shied away from it. "I've never seen incense look like that."

"I believe it was discovered in a brazier. The outer layers have burned away."

"You haven't tried it, have you?"

Seimei's lips parted but he made no reply. A strange expression crossed his face. It was gone so quickly Hiromasa thought he'd imagined it.

"I should shut this away again." Seimei closed the lid and drew the wrappings around the box.

Hiromasa watched him. Seimei hadn't answered his question, so he tried another: "Do you think Nose wants to steal this incense?"

"I think she wants to create her own." Seimei's expression darkened. "If she steals enough personal scents and uses them to take _ki_ energy from each courtier, her life-power will be immense. If she then uses me, focuses all that energy into one single purpose, all the scents will combine into one to make spirit-summoning incense."

Hiromasa tried to imagine it. "What would happen to you?"

"I'd burn." Seimei's smile was brief. "Death in a blaze of scented glory."

Horror filled Hiromasa. "How can we stop her?"

Seimei finished re-tying the silk around the box. "By changing our scent."

"What?"

"It's the only possible course of action we can take without alerting Nose." Rising to his feet, Seimei carried the box into his study and set in on the floor. "Humans can alter their body scent if they change their diet and living habits; for example, bathing more often or…"

"But that's dangerous!" Hiromasa protested.

Seimei continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Or eating meat…"

"It's a sin!" Aghast, Hiromasa sank onto his knees.

"Whatever Nose plans, whether she's using those scents to steal from the palace or if she intends on creating spirit-summoning incense, scent is the key." Seimei opened a lacquer-wood cabinet and took out a series of scrolls. He deposited the box inside the cabinet and replaced the scrolls, then closed the door firmly.

"Since you managed to involve us both in this little drama, it's in our interests, as well as in the interests of those useless fools at court, to stop Nose from succeeding." Seimei sat back and retrieved his fan from where he'd tucked it into his sash. "The incense contest will be held at the end of next month. We have just over forty days to change our scent."

It didn't sound long enough. "Maybe she won't be able to replicate your scent," Hiromasa said hopefully. "After all, your under-robe carried my scent, too." He blushed.

Seimei chuckled. "Unfortunately we can't take the risk that Nose could make a mistake. She knows how to make your scent, and she managed that after only a brief meeting. Since she's smelled and tasted my scent, I have no doubt she's already working on copying it. Changing our scent is the only way we can avoid her intentions."

Hiromasa sighed. He didn't want to break the taboos on washing and eating meat, but he trusted his friend to know what he was doing. Resigned to his fate, he said, "Very well. I will do whatever you say."

Seimei gave him a glinting look. "What a novelty that will be."

"Seimei!" Hiromasa glared. He shifted his gaze to the lacquer-wood cabinet and thought of the box hidden inside. "By the way… why don't you use incense?"

"I do occasionally, but only outside. You've seen me use it in rituals at the shrine in the garden." Seimei relaxed, lounging on one elbow and tapping his fan on the floorboards. "I never use it indoors for two reasons. Mainly it's because the smoke attracts hordes of incense-eating scent-demons, and I can't be bothered dealing with the tiresome little creatures."

Hiromasa blinked. "Are scent-demons attracted to all types of incense?"

"Only those that smell sweetest, or are the most expensive. The demons are the spirits of those who sold bad incense during their lifetimes."

"And Nose is one of those demons?"

Seimei opened his fan and hid a yawn behind it. "I imagine so. A very powerful scent-demon, though, since she can take human shape."

"So when the servants burn incense in the brazier, when they hang my robes to perfume them… the incense-eating scent-demons are also present? In my home?"

"Yes. Unless you have a charm to banish them."

"I want a charm." Hiromasa crept closer to Seimei. "I don't want demons in my house. You never told me about these things before!"

"Most of the time they're not dangerous." Seimei played with his fan, examining the pattern on the paper. "Occasionally a scent-demon will become angry. It fights with the embers and rouses a spark that catches a length of silk and sets the whole house on fire."

Hiromasa stared at him, thinking of how many times the imperial palace had burned down. He thought of the fires that swept almost monthly through the districts of Heian-Kyo. Some were contained before the damage spread very far; other fires devastated large areas of the city.

He swallowed. "Are the great fires caused by angry scent-demons?"

Seimei snapped his fan shut. "Sometimes." He tilted his head, brushing his cheek with the fan. "Mostly it's human error. Not all demons seek to destroy mankind. Many are quite harmless."

"Harmless!" Hiromasa couldn't imagine such a thing as a harmless demon. He sat up. "Seimei. You said there were two reasons you didn't burn incense."

"So I did."

"Well?" Hiromasa waited for his reply. "What is the second reason?"

"The second reason is one of comfort. You see," Seimei paused and gave him a gleaming look, "foxes don't like smoke."


	8. Chapter 8

They took Seimei's ox-cart and travelled west, towards Settsu. As they passed through the commoner's settlement outside the city gates, Hiromasa huddled deep into the cloak he'd borrowed from his ox-handler. The garment was patched and worn and smelled of sour sweat and animal dung. He'd never worn anything so unclean before, and although he was certain the stench masked his own body scent, he worried that Nose would smell him as they drove close to her hut.

Seimei seemed less concerned. He even peeked out of the ox-cart, as if hoping to see the incense-blender on the side of the road.

Hiromasa fidgeted. He took off the stinking cloak as soon as they'd left the cluster of houses and tucked it under a cushion. Seimei had insisted on the cushions, not just for comfort but also for their scent. Each one was filled with duck feathers and dried flowers from Seimei's garden.

"Mitsumushi made them," Seimei had said when Hiromasa remarked that they smelled like a brothel. "Don't insult her kindness."

The cushion nearest to him smelled of lavender and late autumn roses. Hiromasa was sure he'd placed it on Seimei's side of the cart before they'd started their journey. Now he plumped it up and handed it to Seimei, saying, "Here. I have too many cushions and you don't have enough."

Seimei accepted the cushion and arranged it behind him. With a sigh, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

Hiromasa watched him. Last night they'd been busy preparing for this journey. Seimei had packed very little, and had spent most of the time wandering around his house and garden casting spells.

"Magic needs to be fed," he'd said, catching Hiromasa's questioning look. "We will be away for forty days. The wards guarding my estate will weaken with my absence unless I fortify them now. I have no desire to come home and find demons in residence."

Hiromasa had fallen asleep waiting for him to finish his spells. He suspected Seimei had remained awake all night. He seemed tired now, his face paler than usual and the fine skin around his eyes smudged with shadows. Hiromasa knew he should let him sleep, but curiosity about their journey nagged at him.

He sat forwards. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see." Seimei spoke without opening his eyes.

"When will we get there?"

"Soon."

"Is it –"

"Hiromasa." Seimei looked at him at last. "Be patient. And be quiet."

"You could at least tell me where we're going!"

Seimei heaved a soft sigh. "What did you say at court to explain your absence?"

"I said I was visiting a shrine." Hiromasa remembered the Emperor's vague puzzlement when he'd formally requested leave from his palace duties. "And I told my mother we were going to Lake Biwa to your summer estate."

"My summer estate!" Seimei looked amused. "Do you think I have a summer estate?"

Hiromasa blinked. "You don't?"

Seimei laughed at him.

"You haven't answered my question," Hiromasa said, annoyed. "In fact, you haven't answered either of my questions."

"No, I haven't."

"Really, Seimei. You are the most aggravating man I've ever met."

Seimei hid behind his fan and continued to laugh.

Hiromasa decided to stop asking questions. The combined flowery perfumes emanating from the cushions were giving him a headache, so he parted the curtains and for a while looked out at the landscape. Traffic was light. A few people passed them in the opposite direction, heading towards the city: farmers with carts full of hay or vegetables, a man with a goat tethered on a rope, a barefoot monk in a grey robe.

When he grew bored, Hiromasa settled down. He glanced at Seimei, who was curled on his heap of cushions, his sleeve covering the lower part of his face. He appeared to be asleep. Thinking to emulate him, Hiromasa made himself as comfortable as the jolting ox-cart would allow. He plumped up a cushion and laid his head on it with a deep sigh.

Moments later he sat up. He stared at the cushion, then leaned forward and sniffed it cautiously. Lavender and late autumn roses. Suspicious, he glanced over at Seimei, who was watching him over the edge of his sleeve, mischief in his eyes.

"Seimei!" Hiromasa threw the cushion at him.

* * * *

Towards the end of the day, the ox-cart came to an abrupt halt. Hiromasa rolled awake, grogginess making his head swing. Mumbling in complaint, he crawled to the back of the cart and jumped down.

Seimei stood on the road, talking to the white ox harnessed to the front of the vehicle. He stroked its muzzle as it blew puffs of air at him.

Hiromasa looked around. "Where's the ox-handler?"

"I don't have one." Seimei patted the ox's nose a final time and returned to the cart. Standing on tiptoe, he brushed aside the curtains and tossed out a few of the cushions from his side of the cart.

"You don't have one," Hiromasa repeated. He groaned, realising that they'd left Heian-Kyo in a cart drawn by a magical ox. Eyeing the beast, he said, "Don't tell me – it's really a beetle. You've enchanted a beetle and now it thinks it's an ox."

Seimei ducked out from beneath the curtain, a puzzled look on his face. "No, it's an ox. I asked it to bring us here."

Hiromasa raised his eyebrows. "But of course you did."

"Animals are a lot more intelligent than humans realise." Seimei busied himself inside the cart again.

"So why did it stop?"

"Really, Hiromasa, have you no imagination? I asked it to stop." Seimei yanked the curtain to one side and pulled a wooden box out of the cart. "From here we go on foot." He lifted the box and held it out to him. "Carry this."

"Carry?" Hiromasa wondered where the box had come from. He hadn't seen it in the cart, and he felt certain it couldn't have been hidden beneath the heap of Seimei's cushions. He took it and staggered under its weight. He'd never carried anything heavier than a kin before. This was much heavier than the delicate musical instrument.

He hefted the box, readjusting his grip on it. "What's inside it?"

"Rice." Seimei dragged a cook-pot from the cart. "Bowls. Cups. Vegetables."

Hiromasa stared at him. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see." Two jars of sake were placed inside the cook-pot. Seimei leaned inside the cart and hauled out what looked like an animal skin.

"What is that?"

"Wolf-pelts." Seimei upended the fur and shoved it into the cook-pot. He swung the whole thing into his arms and huffed. "Let's go."

"What about the cart?" Hiromasa tottered after him, carrying the box.

"It will return for us in forty days."

Hiromasa gasped, the weight of the box already pulling at his muscles, making him ache. He turned to cast a longing glance at the ox-cart. "Are we going far?"

Seimei nodded towards the distance. "There."

Rough ground lay before them, the grasses yellowed from the over-long summer. A dried stream cut through it, the mud on its banks cracked and pale. Beyond stretched a forest, the trees on its outer edge shading from dark green to brown and red. The forest covered a series of hills and dipped into a valley. It looked bleak and endless.

Hiromasa shivered and hugged the box. "What's in there?"

But Seimei had walked away, the cook-pot balanced against one hip as if it had no more weight to it than a lute. Grumbling, Hiromasa followed him.

Within thirty paces, he dropped the box. It landed on the ground with a thud, startling nearby cicadas into silence. He blotted his face with his sleeve and blinked sweat from his eyes. His hands felt slippery, unable to grasp the corners of the box. Hiromasa picked it up and heaved it a little further before it slid from his arms again.

Crouching beside it, his head bowed in defeat, he became aware of the smell of his sweat. Free of his usual fragrance, the scent was not unpleasant. He licked his upper lip, tasting it. Already he thought it was different to the scent Nose had bottled yesterday.

When he looked up, Seimei stood over him. Dust marred the dazzling white of his hunting-costume and streaked the dark blue robe and paler hakama beneath.

"The box is too heavy," Hiromasa complained.

Seimei tutted. He murmured a few words then stepped back. "It's a question of perception. If you think it's too heavy, it will be too heavy. Think of it as light, and it will be light." He tapped his fingers against the round belly of the cook-pot. "Try it now. I want to reach our temporary home before evening."

Mention of a house brightened Hiromasa's mood. He swung up the box, surprised and yet not surprised to find it a more manageable weight, and started after Seimei with renewed vigour.

Soon they reached the edge of the forest. The ground changed, hard-packed earth giving way to a blanketing of pine needles that quietened their tread. Roots broke the surface, knotted and gnarled; brackens rustled; tangling brambles snagged their silks as they passed. Trees rose up, huge and silent.

A deep, nameless dread shook him as they entered the forest. Hiromasa drew closer to Seimei, gripping the box and hunching into his borrowed cloak. Something screeched from the shadows ahead of them. Hiromasa told himself it was just a bird or a harmless creature. It was not a tengu or a lost soul. As distraction, he tried to identify the different types of trees surrounding them. If he could name them, he would feel safe.

They walked deeper into the forest. Hiromasa stumbled over branches, kicked pinecones and snapped twigs. Seimei seemed to move with effortless grace, his gait more fluid here despite the uneven ground than it had ever been over the stone-flagged terraces of the imperial palace. His footsteps were light, his movements brisk.

Watching him, Hiromasa was reminded of an animal – a cat, perhaps, prowling around its territory. He did not want to think about foxes.

The daylight that marked the edge of the forest vanished. If Hiromasa wanted to see the sky, he had to look up. The trees loomed over him, their branches spread to block his view. Red and gold leaves fell, reminding him of Mitsumushi's weaving, dancing flights in her butterfly shape. He wished she'd accompanied them. For all her strangeness, she was something familiar in this frightening, uncivilised place.

Seimei stopped.

Hiromasa leaned the box against a tree-trunk. "Are we…" He paused. He didn't want to ask if they were lost. Instead he asked, "Are we there yet?"

"Yes." Seimei remained motionless, gazing at something Hiromasa couldn't see; then he pointed. "There."

Hiromasa looked. He saw a small clearing, a fallen tree-trunk, and a snarl of bushes around a raised hillock. Puzzled, he glanced at Seimei, who wore a blank expression. His confusion increased. Hiromasa looked again.

Then he saw it. The hillock was not a natural part of the landscape. It was manmade – a dwelling of some kind. Now he understood what he looked at, he could pick out individual features: the brambles crawling over sagging walls, and the vivid green moss covering a bowed roof of yellowish-brown thatch.

"This will be our home for the next forty days." Seimei sounded pleased. "Perhaps we should re-thatch it."

Hiromasa stared at him. Despite what Seimei had said during the journey, he'd been expecting a country villa – nothing grand, but of an acceptable size and staffed with a few servants. He'd thought the box of supplies and the cook-pot were one of Seimei's jokes. He'd imagined them being welcomed with food and sake and lit braziers warming the rooms. Instead they were going to live in a dwelling unfit even for animals.

Hiromasa couldn't summon adequate words. Hoping that this was a bad dream, he trailed Seimei towards the tumbledown hovel. Any moment now he'd wake, and they'd be in the ox-cart. Any moment now, Seimei would turn and chuckle and announce this was all a huge joke.

Seimei picked his way through the brambles and set down the cook-pot outside the hut. Hiromasa dropped the box next to it, uncaring that the items inside clattered and crashed. A sense of unreality floated through him. He wanted to laugh, but saw nothing funny in the situation.

"My grandfather told me about this place." Seimei touched the overhanging thatch above the door. "It used to belong to a hermit."

"Your grandfather?" Hiromasa pushed at the door. Made of woven grass stems set into a frame, it swung open to reveal a room, half the size of Nose's house, in an advanced state of decay. Things rustled and squeaked in a pile of decomposing straw. Lichen patterned parts of the dirt floor. The scent of damp earth and rotting wood hung in the air, rich and heady.

Hiromasa faced Seimei, aghast. "Your _grandfather_ told you about this… hovel?"

"It's built on my grandfather's territory." Seimei flashed him a look. "My maternal grandfather, that is."

Realisation shocked him cold. Hiromasa swallowed. "A – a… your grandfather was a…" He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. Helplessly, he gestured inside the hovel. "It smells!"

"That's the idea." Seimei looked amused by his squeamishness. He took off his lacquered hat, unfastened his topknot, and shook out his hair before retying it at the nape of his neck. Tucking his hat under one arm, he took hold of the cook-pot and dragged it inside the hut.

Hiromasa followed. Taller than Seimei, and with his court cap still on his head, he bumped into the thatch and cursed as moss dropped onto him. He took off the hat and ducked inside, then with some caution stood upright.

Seimei crouched on the floor, emptying out the cook-pot. He placed the sake jugs against the wall and shook out the wolf-pelts. The fur unrolled to reveal Hiromasa's bow and arrows wrapped inside.

Hiromasa looked at him, speechless.

Seimei shrugged. "We need to eat."

"You expect me to shoot things?"

"Animals. I expect you to kill animals, which we will then eat." Seimei stood and faced him, his usual patient expression slipping. "You agreed to do this."

For a moment Hiromasa couldn't speak. Then he found his voice and words tumbled from him. "I agreed to try changing my scent so we could stop Nose and save the court and us from turning into spirit-summoning incense. I agreed to leave the city because I thought we'd go to your summer estate. I didn't know we were going to live like peasants!"

"In order to change our body scent, we must be willing to change every aspect of our lives." Seimei's voice roughened with a passion his reasonable words couldn't hide. "We must leave our civilised scent behind. We will bathe in the streams; we will eat meat; we will sleep in animal skins. We will get our hands dirty and roll in leaves and we will make love until we smell like one another and create a new scent between us."

Hiromasa looked away. He knew Seimei was right, but his pride rebelled against living in such poor conditions. Ashamed of himself for being so superficial, he complained, "Seimei, I can't stay here. _We_ can't stay here."

"It will be quite habitable after a little work." Seimei bustled around the cramped space, rearranging the wolf-pelts and smoothing them flat. He stood and pushed at the thatch, then jumped back as a section of the roof collapsed. He peered up at the sky through the hole and turned to Hiromasa with a brilliant smile. "We can lay the fire here."

"You're serious? You want us to live here for forty days?"

At the sight of Seimei with a smudge of mud on his cheek and tumbled thatch in his hair, Hiromasa tried to summon amusement. The humour faded as anger and fear built up again. "I've never done this kind of work before. I don't know how to thatch a roof. I don't know how to chop wood. I don't know how to cook…"

"I do," Seimei said. "Cook, that is. I don't know how to thatch a roof, either. But we can learn."

"I don't want to learn!" Hiromasa didn't know if he was angriest with Seimei or with himself. The capital and its comforts seemed like a distant dream. Loss overwhelmed him and he lashed out. "Everything's just a game to you. Why did you bring me here? To save me – or to show how different we are?"

For a brief moment, hurt flickered in Seimei's eyes. Then his face returned to its usual placid blankness. He made to leave the hut, but Hiromasa caught his sleeve and stopped him. They gazed at each other, the silence between them unbearable.

Hiromasa broke first. His voice lowered, became husky. "You have straw in your hair." He reached up and brushed it away, closing his fingers around the stalk so he wouldn't be tempted to touch Seimei the way he yearned to do.

Seimei turned his head and exhaled. "This is not a game."

He went outside.

Hiromasa sighed and rubbed his forehead. He paced around the confines of the hut, imagining himself living there for the next few weeks. He tried to imagine eating meat. He'd eaten quail once, but it had seemed a strange food, fatty and strong tasting. Could he eat it again? Could he eat it for forty days?

He stared up through the hole in the roof and imagined the cold that would gather in this damp forest when evening fell. He shivered and turned his attention to the wolf-pelts. Crouching, he retrieved his bow and quiver full of arrows. He was hardly dressed for hunting, but if it pleased Seimei, he'd do his best to shoot a bird.

He stroked the grey pelts. At least they'd provide some warmth. His mind gave him the image of Seimei laid naked on the fur, his hair tumbling over his shoulders. Hiromasa took a deep breath. Desire twisted inside him as he remembered Seimei saying they'd make love until their scents combined. He stared at the wolf-skin then forced himself to walk out into the clearing.

He found Seimei a short distance away, gathering firewood. It seemed an easy enough task, so Hiromasa joined him. He propped the bow and quiver against the log and rolled back his sleeves.

They worked together in silence, selecting fallen branches and stacking them outside the hut. The forest darkened as the sun began to set. Seimei wandered further from the hut. Wary of being left alone, Hiromasa picked up his weapons and trod quietly after him.

Seimei halted. He tilted his head, the line of his body tense. Hiromasa was about to call out a question when Seimei moved again, a sudden flurry of white silk as he sprang at the undergrowth.

A pair of pheasants squawked from their hiding-place and ran headlong. The smaller, drabber female split from her mate. Hiromasa watched open-mouthed as Seimei chased the hen. Meanwhile the cock pheasant sounded its alarm call, and three other birds scattered. Coming to his senses, Hiromasa grabbed his bow, notched an arrow and started shooting.

By the time he'd retrieved his arrows – one of them buried in a pheasant, the others sticking out of trees and the earth – Hiromasa decided it wasn't so bad living in the forest. His usual good spirits restored, he carried his prize back towards the hut.

Seimei waited for him, the hen pheasant dangling from his grasp. Hiromasa's pride in his catch lessened a little.

"I'm out of practice," he said by way of excuse before Seimei could comment. "I've been too busy. I…"

Seimei arched his eyebrows and smiled.


	9. Chapter 9

When they returned to the hut, the pile of rotting straw had disappeared. The interior had been swept and the holes in the wall patched. The wolf-pelts had multiplied and a few of the cushions from the ox-cart lay scattered across it. The wood they'd gathered earlier had been set for a fire directly beneath the hole in the roof.

Hiromasa stared. "How…"

"The mice." Seimei indicated the far corner of the hut. "I agreed they could stay if they tidied the place for us."

"You made mice your shikigami." Hiromasa didn't know why he still felt surprised by all this. "Can you ask the mice to cook for us?"

Seimei gave him a puzzled look. "How would a mouse know how to prepare human food?"

Hiromasa sighed. He set his bow and quiver aside and knelt by the kindling. He had a vague idea that one could make sparks by rubbing two sticks together. Doubtless it would take all evening to achieve it, but he was prepared to give it a try. As he reached for the topmost sticks, a tiny burst of flame winked into life at the bottom of the pile.

Quickly, Hiromasa withdrew his hands, pushing his sleeves out of the way as the flame caught, licking its way along the branches and twigs until it flared into a crackling, dancing fire. A ribbon of grey smoke rose. Most of it wended out through the hole; the rest of it clouded about the roof.

Hiromasa coughed and waved his sleeves, trying to disperse the smoke.

"It's all right." Seimei crouched beside him and looked into the flames. The fire seemed to leap beneath his gaze, burning brighter, radiating more heat.

"I thought you said foxes don't like smoke," Hiromasa remarked.

"They don't. However, they control fire." Seimei dipped closer to the flames, holding up his hands to warm them. "Foxes are yin animals, yet they control a yang element. Interesting, isn't it? I once asked a Chinese sage his opinion on the subject."

"You went to China?"

"A long time ago." Seimei gazed into the fire, expressionless.

Hiromasa stared, his mind whirling. It had been almost fifty years since the official break with the court of the Tang emperor. He knew Chinese merchant ships still landed along the west coast, due more to bad weather than intent, but it was a rare occurrence.

"When did you go? How did you get there? Did you go to Chang'an? Was that when you found the spirit-summoning incense?"

Seimei gathered his sleeves around him and stood. "What a lot of questions you ask, Hiromasa."

"You provoke them."

"Perhaps. But you've never been so curious about my past before. Only my age."

Hiromasa watched him leave the warm circle of firelight. "Things are different between us now."

Seimei smiled. "I'll prepare our dinner."

It took a long time to pluck the hen pheasant. Accustomed to food arriving in pleasing arrangements, Hiromasa had never given any thought to how much work went into making a meal. It seemed that, for once, Seimei had overestimated his abilities. The resulting combination of boiled rice and stewed pheasant was edible, but not palatable.

"I said I could cook," Seimei said as they cleared away. He sounded a touch defensive. "I didn't say I could cook well."

The fire began to die. Hiromasa stretched out on the wolf-pelts and gazed up at the sky. The hut was warm now, the smell of the food still lingering. The glow of the embers made the room seem almost cosy. He thought of his house in the city and how draughty it got during the evening. Perhaps living in a hovel wasn't so bad after all. Then he thought of the time – surely it couldn't be past the hour of the rooster – and reflected that, in the capital, the day was only halfway through.

If he were at home now, he'd have received several messages offering various ways to spend the night. Unless he'd received a summons from a member of the imperial family, the Chancellor, or his mother, Hiromasa would give his attention first to Winter Moon's invitation, then to any written by other ladies of his acquaintance. Sometimes it took him an hour to work through all the letters.

He chuckled, imagining messengers trudging through the forest to deliver their letters to him now. How ridiculous they would look! Hiromasa's chuckle became a laugh.

On the other side of the fire, Seimei asked, "What is it?"

"This." Hiromasa flapped a hand at their surroundings. "At home there'd be so much to do. Parties, contests, boring long discussions on the Chancellor's latest poem, an evening listening to Winter Moon chatter about the colours of her robes, an hour while my mother tells me about the virtues of one of my marriageable Fujiwara cousins, another hour drinking watered-down sake with one group of courtiers and the hour after that drinking very strong sake with a second group… Maybe a stolen moment with a princess, or some banter with a lady-in-waiting while her mistress decides whether to permit me behind her curtain…"

He rolled onto his side and heaved a sigh. "There's so much to do, and yet it's all so trivial." Hiromasa stared at the glowing embers. "There's only one thing in the capital that gives me real pleasure."

Seimei remained silent, his expression hidden by the encroaching shadows.

"Come here." Hiromasa sat up and patted the wolf-skin.

Seimei rose and moved around the fire to sit with him. They did not touch, but Hiromasa was aware of his closeness. Seimei resumed gazing at the embers. Perhaps he saw something there, some sprite or imp that resided in flame. Hiromasa looked at his friend's profile, the sweep of his nose and the softness of his mouth and the length of the lashes veiling his eyes.

He wanted to tell Seimei how lonely he'd felt these past few months, how he'd allowed himself to get so tangled in duty and court and social conventions he'd been afraid to step outside of it. He wanted to tell him that even the memory of one afternoon drinking sake together on the veranda was enough to carry him through the most tedious of court rituals.

Most of all, he wanted to tell Seimei that he missed being with him. Seimei was the only person of his acquaintance who never demanded or expected anything of him. Hiromasa couldn't imagine anyone else capable of passing an afternoon in a silence warmer and more intimate than conversation. His courtly friends sighed over the usual ideas of the fleeting nature of beauty, agonising over the writing of forgettable poems; Seimei made him perceive the world differently, made him aware of how everything was linked in an endless cycle of life and death.

Hiromasa wanted to say all these things, but the words caught in his throat. He took a breath and released it in a whispering sigh.

Seimei turned to him. His hair, bound at the nape, had loosened. He looked softer, younger. Without conscious thought, Hiromasa reached up and brushed the back of his hand against Seimei's hair. It felt warm, as animal as the wolf-pelt beneath them. Bolder now, Hiromasa tangled his fingers in the long black strands, his grip tightening to draw Seimei closer.

Seimei allowed it, his gaze darkening. His lips parted.

Hiromasa stared at his mouth, thinking of the things he'd heard about the Chinese. On the mainland, it was said, lovers kissed on the mouth. It seemed a strange, barbaric custom, one he'd flinched from trying before. But Seimei had been to China; Seimei would know how to do it.

Hiromasa angled his head, wondering how such a kiss could take place without loss of dignity. He leaned forward and pressed a questioning, delicate kiss to the corner of Seimei's mouth.

With a tiny moan, Seimei moved to accept the kiss. His eyes closed. Hiromasa copied him. It was easier to concentrate when his eyes were shut. He kissed Seimei again, enjoying the softness of his lips and the eager way he responded. Really, if this was the way foreigners kissed, it was pleasant but nothing extraordinary.

Hiromasa swayed forward when Seimei seized his sleeves and pulled him hard against him. The kiss heated, lips parting, breath shortening. Hiromasa flattened his hand through Seimei's hair, cradling the back of his head, holding him closer still.

Seimei darted his tongue against Hiromasa's lips. It tickled. Hiromasa giggled, then gave a muffled gasp when Seimei's tongue slipped inside his mouth.

It felt like a violation. Hiromasa jerked back in shock, but Seimei grasped at him, held him close.

"Kiss me," he murmured. "Take my mouth the way you'd take my body."

His words fired Hiromasa. Clumsily he imitated what Seimei had done to him, stabbing his tongue into Seimei's mouth. Instinct and desire guided him; no longer was this a mere curiosity. Hiromasa wanted to learn everything about it. If it brought Seimei pleasure, he wanted to master it.

Seimei broke the kiss, his breath sharp and staccato against Hiromasa's cheek. Hiromasa splayed his fingers in Seimei's hair and pulled him down for another kiss. This time he felt the power of it go straight to his cock. When Seimei whimpered beneath his mouth, Hiromasa ached. Desperate for more, he pushed Seimei back onto the wolf-skin.

Seimei's arms went around him. Hiromasa lay over him, feeling the heat of Seimei's erection pressed against his belly through the slithering layers of silk and brocade. Their clothes were a nuisance, a distraction Hiromasa didn't want. He untangled his hand from Seimei's hair and pulled at the collar of his hunting-costume. Without bothering to undo the sash at his waist, Hiromasa yanked at the folds of the under-robes to bare Seimei's throat.

Heat poured through him. Hiromasa felt the blood pounding in his ears, deafening him to everything but Seimei's exquisite, desperate noises. Hiromasa kissed his mouth, capturing the sounds, taking Seimei's moans into himself as a prize. _Now_ he understood why foreigners kissed like this. Stealing someone's breath, tasting them, joining with them to silence words so only their bodies could speak… it was heady, delicious, dangerously addictive. Hiromasa felt as if he could touch Seimei's soul.

Overwhelmed by a rush of lust, Hiromasa broke away and turned his kisses onto Seimei's pale throat. He nuzzled into his hair, smelling wood-smoke and damp bracken; when he kissed his skin, Seimei tasted sweet and musky.

Need snarled at him. Hiromasa slid his tongue over the pulse in Seimei's neck, feeling it beat frantic and wanton. Seimei mewled and arched back, rubbing against him.

"Yes," Seimei whispered. "Bite me. Claim me."

Hiromasa sank his teeth into Seimei's neck and felt him buck beneath him. Seimei grasped at his shoulders, clawing into his brocades. Hiromasa licked over the bite and nipped at the curve of his shoulder. Seimei gave up tearing at Hiromasa's clothes and pulled at his own. Catching his urgency, Hiromasa reared back and scrambled out of his robes, heedless of the twisted heap they made beneath them.

Naked, he lay on top of Seimei. In the dying light of the embers their skin seemed the same colour, licked by gold. Hiromasa could already see the new bruises darkening at Seimei's throat. The sight made his cock jerk and spool a sticky wetness across their skin. He put a hand between them, pressing their erections together.

Seimei arched up, gasping, his eyes wide. "Please." He wriggled, trying to turn onto his belly. "_Please_."

Hiromasa stopped him, trapping Seimei on his back. "Why do you always face away from me when we make love?"

"This is only the third time you've bedded me." Seimei refused to meet his gaze. He undulated, clearly trying to distract him. It almost worked. "I seem to remember it was you who arranged me on the last occasion. Does it matter which way I face?"

"Yes." Hiromasa frowned. He'd meant to say 'no'. He persisted. "Is it because you're half-fox?"

"Perhaps." Seimei flashed him a glance, a shadow of wariness replacing desire. "You could blame a lot of my habits on my parentage, if you chose to do so."

"It's not because of your mother." Hiromasa knew that now with certainty. "It's because you're afraid."

Seimei went still. "I am not afraid of you."

"Then let me see you. Let me watch your face when we make love. I want to see what you look like when you come."

"Much like any other man, I imagine," Seimei said tightly. He tried to roll over again, a signal that the conversation was at an end.

"I'm not interested in any other man." Hiromasa leaned his weight through his hips and thrust hard. His cock slid wetly over Seimei's belly. The response was immediate and instinctive: an upward heave, a gasp of frustrated acknowledgement. Seimei lay still then made another attempt to twist sideways. Hiromasa caught him, seizing his wrists and pinning him to the fur.

Seimei still resisted, but now his struggles felt sweet, a sensual tease rather than with the intent to escape. "Perhaps I prefer to face away from you because it makes things easier."

"Not for what I have in mind." Hiromasa slid a hand down Seimei's thigh, urging him to spread his legs. Seimei obeyed, and Hiromasa settled between his thighs with a groan of pleasure.

"It's still easier –"

"Seimei. Hush." Hiromasa kissed him until he felt Seimei surrender. "What is it you fear? What don't you want me to see?"

Seimei closed his eyes and turned his head, presenting his throat in silent offering. Hot and restless, he moved in the fur, his skin sheened with sweat. Hiromasa tasted him; his scent like fire and wood-ash. He smelled his own arousal, the warmth of musk rising between them. He had the sudden urge to cover Seimei in it, to mark him the way an animal did its mate.

He rocked against Seimei, careful at first. Seimei's belly was taut with tension, his cock hot and hard. Hiromasa lifted himself enough to slide his hand back between their bodies and grasp their erections together. He thrust harder, feeling the spill of pre-cum rub slippery-wet over their hot skin.

Seimei whimpered and turned his head, his hair in his face. Hiromasa nuzzled it out of the way. "Let me see you," he whispered, licking the curve of Seimei's ear, biting the tender skin just behind it.

Seimei kept his eyes closed and trembled. "Why?"

"Because I want to know you. All of you." Hiromasa felt Seimei's hips stir, felt him respond to the rhythm he'd set. It was easier now, his hand moving on their flesh, drawing them towards orgasm.

"You always shut me out. Let me in. Let me prove…" Hiromasa stopped, suddenly aware of the aching passion in his voice. That he was capable of such raw hunger surprised him. He didn't know what he was trying to say – and still Seimei wouldn't look at him.

"Seimei." He wanted something, anything; an acknowledgement of their intimacy, the reassurance that this meant more than a conventional expression of physical lust. Desperate, Hiromasa buried his face in the curve of Seimei's neck. He groaned, blind now to everything but the need to climax, to feel Seimei shudder beneath him in helpless ecstasy.

Seimei gathered him closer. Hiromasa kissed his throat, bit him until Seimei cried out and went tense, so tense his body shook with it, and then he gasped and released, his seed warm and wet between them. Hiromasa knew he should look at him now, should lift his head to see what expression Seimei wore in the aftermath, but he didn't.

He struggled for his own climax, coating his hand in semen and stroking himself until he came, hot and brutal, over Seimei's chest and belly.

Hiromasa lay still. If it meant that much to Seimei, if he needed to conceal his feelings for a little longer, Hiromasa would let him hide. But he wouldn't be satisfied with this forever. He wanted more. Much more.

* * * *

Hiromasa woke in the darkness before the dawn. Easing himself from the enveloping animal warmth of the wolf-pelts, and careful not to wake Seimei, he gathered his clothes and dressed before slipping out of the hut.

The forest, grey-painted and silent, waited for him. He strolled around the clearing, taking deep breaths, then sat on the fallen log. The chill of the morning settled over him, a gentle dampness seeping through his silks and brocades. Hiromasa took his flute from within his cloak and raised it to his lips.

He played without conscious thought, the music flowing from him as fluid as water. Though he began with a tune popular at court, his fingers soon moved to form other notes; first in variation, then in composition.

A leaf, red splotched with gold, fell from a tree and floated down to land at his feet. Hiromasa tried to capture the graceful spiral of the leaf in his music, but couldn't bring himself to end the lilting melody. He glanced up, playing to other leaves as they fell to join the first. Down they came, a silent flurry moved by the dawn breeze.

When the sun rose and the sky brightened, Hiromasa lowered his flute. He stared in front of him at the rigid tree-trunks, the jagged branches bare of foliage and the dull, lifeless tint of the earth. He stood, aware of the sharp, clear quality to the air that almost made him catch his breath.

While he'd played his flute, it seemed that winter had arrived.


	10. Chapter 10

"Seimei, it is not socially acceptable to say this, but… I stink." Hiromasa held his grubby silks away from his body and wrinkled his nose at the heavy, pungent smell. "I need to wash."

"Perhaps we both do." Seimei loosened his hair from its tie at his nape and shook it out, combing his fingers through it. He snorted at the knots, working them out with savage tugs. "It's been twenty-one days since we arrived here. Maybe we should spend the next week bathing every day."

Hiromasa murmured in acknowledgement. While he longed to wash away some of the more objectionable smells from his person and clothes, he didn't look forward to the idea of bathing. The stream that lay a short distance from the hut served them well enough for a mere cat's-lick of washing and a shave, but since winter had settled upon the forest, a rime of ice traced delicate patterns along the water's edge.

"Twenty-one days?" His brow furrowed as he thought. "And the last hair-washing day was… ah, three days ago…"

Without an almanac, Hiromasa didn't know when the next bathing-day fell. Not that it mattered. Since they'd come into the forest, the days had ceased to have meaning or number. At first he'd tried to keep count, marking off each day by scraping a line on the fallen log with his razor. He'd stopped doing that when the edge blunted and he cut his face.

He gave up counting days and tried to count the number of times he and Seimei made love. After dusk, when it became too cold to sit outside, they curled together beneath the wolf-skins. Feeling Seimei warm and close to him excited Hiromasa in a way he'd never expected. Sex was inevitable and mutual; Seimei's hunger for it a revelation.

After their first night in the hut, Hiromasa allowed Seimei to face away from him. He'd hoped with time that Seimei would trust him more. When it didn't happen, Hiromasa felt bewildered and hurt. He said nothing, and – perhaps in unconscious reaction – he always rose before dawn and went outside to play his flute to the forest.

He tried not to think about it too much. Seimei had been an intensely private man before Hiromasa had stumbled into his life. But since they'd come into the forest, he'd seen Seimei open up, become almost human. Perhaps it was wrong of him to want more, but Hiromasa refused to give up hope.

Seimei chuckled. "You're still concerned about breaking taboos? Hiromasa, we have done nothing but transgress since we came here!"

Hiromasa remembered the forbidden meat they'd eaten – the game birds, the rabbits, the deer he'd managed to shoot – and thought of the spiritual pollution they'd accrued from it. They'd ignored directional taboos and broken the ground to build an earthen oven. He hadn't thought to bring a sutra and couldn't remember a single line from any religious text.

When Seimei rose every morning, he would spend some time alone amongst the trees. Hiromasa hoped he was communicating with benevolent deities who'd forgive them for all these terrible lapses.

"I'm more concerned that we'll have to bathe in shallow, icy water."

Still combing out his hair, Seimei said, "There's a hot spring nearby."

"There is?"

Seimei gave him a placid look. "Of course."

Hiromasa felt the urge to strangle his friend. All this time in the cold stream when they could have been wallowing in a hot spring! He brushed the leaves from his dirty brocade and stood. "I'm ready. Let's go."

'Nearby' turned out to be a relative term. Twenty-one days ago, Hiromasa would have baulked at the prospect of a half-day walk, but since they'd entered the forest, the daily hunting and gathering of food and wood had strengthened his body. He'd become leaner; Seimei had become sleeker.

They walked through the forest, following no particular path. Seimei carried their evening meal, a dead rabbit, by the ears; Hiromasa carried a bundle of washing wrapped inside Seimei's hunting-costume. Seimei had stopped wearing it when one of the sleeves caught on a branch and tore off. At first it had been strange to see him dressed so informally in just his layered under-robes, especially when he took to wearing them like a Chinese, but Seimei seemed comfortable.

Hiromasa hadn't imitated him, preferring to keep his court garments in order. They may be alone in the wilderness, but that was no reason to forget who he was or the rank he held.

The ground sloped down, rocks breaking through the earth. The soil thinned and the trees stood in sparse clumps. Hiromasa heard the sound of running water and caught the faint stink of sulphur in the air. They slithered down a steep bank and followed a ribble of gently steaming water to its source.

A series of small pools, rich with minerals, had formed in a bulge of the bedrock. Pine trees twisted beside them, black branches reaching towards the water. Steam obscured much of the surface, a shifting mist that revealed glimpses of dark-veined rocks.

Hiromasa chose a pool at random and dumped their clothes in it, swirling them around to separate the garments from the bundle. The water was hotter than he'd expected and he snatched his hand back with a yelp.

Seimei laughed. "The larger pool won't be so hot." He dropped the rabbit and undressed, shedding his robes and sash onto the soft carpet of pine needles littering the ground.

Hiromasa watched him, suddenly breathless. He knew every inch of Seimei's body, had touched and tasted him by firelight in the shadowed darkness of the hut, but he'd never seen him quite as naked as this. He blushed, realising he'd have to strip off his own clothes, too. What seemed exciting in the privacy of a house seemed scandalous in full daylight and the open air.

Seimei entered the pool and slid down with a sigh. He unfastened his hair and ducked his head underwater. He surfaced with a gasp, scraping his wet hair from his eyes. As if aware of Hiromasa's hesitation, he smiled over at him. "You don't need to be shy. We're alone here. And I'm curious – I'd like to see you…"

Even more embarrassed, but wanting to please Seimei, Hiromasa undressed with a rush. He caught his breath at the chill in the air, feeling his nipples tighten. He hurried into the pool, sinking boneless into its warmth. The rock had worn smooth, the bottom slippery with mineral deposits. It was deep enough to sit comfortably, the water just covering his shoulders if he leaned back against the side.

Hiromasa untied his hair and washed it, drawing his hands through the length. He worked at a few tangles, wishing he'd brought a comb, and then Seimei was beside him.

"Here. Let me." Seimei's long, elegant fingers stroked through his hair, separating the tendrils, unknotting the strands. Hiromasa let him do it, enjoying the sensation of his friend's hands on him. He closed his eyes and purred in satisfaction, not even minding the occasional tug at his scalp.

Seimei brushed the wet hair over one shoulder and kissed bare skin. "All done."

"Thank you." Hiromasa caught his wrist and pulled Seimei to face him. The heat of the water had made his skin flush; a fine sweat sheened his forehead and upper lip. Hiromasa kissed him, tasting the sweat and pine-sulphur tang of the water from his skin.

Seimei moaned, pressing against him. Their bodies slid together. Water splashed; the warm mist covered them. Hiromasa slipped his arms around Seimei's narrow waist and stroked his back. His cock stirred. Hiromasa felt too relaxed and lazy to do much more than kiss. He murmured something soft and regretful, pulled away, and settled Seimei beside him.

With drowsy interest, Hiromasa watched the steam rise and twist, ethereal against the backdrop of pine and rock. It came to him then that he was happy. The thought made him frown. He'd never considered himself unhappy at court, but often – and especially since his friendship with Seimei – he'd felt trapped by his duties. Now, after living outside of his old life, he viewed his return there with ambivalence.

He sighed and sank lower into the water, wishing there was a way to preserve this moment forever. Right now he didn't care about Winter Moon or Nose or anything else. He simply wanted to remain in this state of being happy.

Seimei looked at him. "What is it?"

"I think I'm happy."

"You only think?" Seimei arched his eyebrows. "I _know_ I am happy."

In the pause that followed, Hiromasa felt his heart jump. "You are?"

"Yes." Seimei lowered his gaze. He did not elaborate.

Hiromasa waited a moment longer, hoping; but when Seimei remained silent, he tipped back his head and stared at the sky. "I miss court and yet I don't miss it," he said, testing his thoughts aloud. "I felt stifled there, but when I first came here I was afraid. I didn't think I'd be able to do anything useful. I didn't want to hunt for my food or work like a peasant. And now, while I know I can survive out here, I couldn't do it on my own. I would be a terrible hermit."

Seimei chuckled and turned in the water, his body pressing closer. "No one's asking you to be a hermit. I would miss you too much."

"Would you?" Hiromasa touched Seimei's wet hair, curling a tendril around his fingers. "Hermits aren't supposed to have sex. I'd miss that."

"Of course you would." Seimei tossed his head, shaking off Hiromasa's hand, and moved away. His expression, so relaxed a moment ago, now resumed the blank look he saved for court.

Confused by the coolness between them, Hiromasa sat up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Seimei shook his head. "Nothing. It's nothing." He hesitated then smiled, but the warmth of it didn't quite banish the uncertainty in his eyes. Drifting back to Hiromasa, he said, "I'm being foolish. Hush," he added when Hiromasa began to say that Seimei was never foolish, and continued, "I want to be happy again. I need…"

Hiromasa felt the change in him, recognised the dark, sleepy-eyed look of arousal and the inviting curve of his lips. He caught Seimei's shoulders and drew him near. "What do you need?"

This time, Seimei's smile was genuine, ripe and wanton. "I need…" He straddled Hiromasa's thighs and sat on his lap, facing him. He kissed him, aggressive and demanding, one hand cupping the side of Hiromasa's face. The other hand he insinuated between them, rubbing at Hiromasa's peaked nipples then sliding over his belly to grasp his cock. "I need this. Want it."

Hiromasa groaned, jerking upward as Seimei stroked him. Heat built inside him; his heart raced. It was too hot to do this in the pool, but he couldn't reject Seimei. Sweat ran to the corners of his mouth. He licked his lips, tasting salt.

Seimei kissed him again, his tongue darting. Hiromasa let him in; felt him trace across his teeth. Seimei withdrew, catching Hiromasa's lower lip in a sharp bite. It hurt. It should have been enough to dampen his lust, but it didn't. He tasted blood and kissed Seimei in angry response, gripping the back of his neck and punishing him with harder, more violent kisses until Seimei whimpered in urgent pleasure.

Hiromasa pulled away, his head spinning with a combination of heat and desire. The cut on his lip pulsed, a tiny pain aggravated by his sweat and the steam. He licked it, tasting the copper-sweetness. It clouded Seimei's taste and so he kissed him again, hard enough to leave an imprint of blood on Seimei's lips.

Seimei laughed, breathless and excited. He lifted up, positioned himself, and sank down on Hiromasa's cock.

Hiromasa gasped, startled. "Seimei!" It came out strangled, a choke of a sound. The sensations had been unbelievable before; now he thought he was dying.

Seimei tightened around him, so hot inside. He smiled, untouchable even though they were joined together. "This is what you wanted. Now give me what I want."

Heat surrounded him, overwhelmed him. Hiromasa abandoned himself to it, his mind going blank. He held Seimei to him, one hand on his back, the other at his hip, and thrust up. Seimei clung to his shoulders, his fingers digging deep enough to scratch. Sweat stung the grazes, a goad to the annihilating pleasure.

Desperate cries spilled from Seimei as he leaned backwards. His hair trailed into the water and fanned out, bubbles silvering in its length. Hiromasa kissed his throat, mouthing at the bruises encircling his neck. No other lover had allowed him to mark them like this. The sense of power and possession it gave him was immense. Whenever Seimei offered his throat or his nape, his vulnerability showed. It was the only time Hiromasa knew Seimei trusted him.

Hiromasa pulled him upright, catching a handful of wet hair to drag him close. "Oh, Seimei, what you do to me…"

Seimei smiled, his eyes half-lidded and slumberous. "What do I do?"

"You make me lose my mind."

Hiromasa wanted to carry him out of the pool, throw him to the ground and ride him until they were spent, but the heat stole his will, made him helpless. He knew he was out of control; knew Seimei had charge of this, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything but the fact he could see Seimei's face.

He watched him now, tempering his thrusts to respond to Seimei's flickering expressions. His own desire was nothing, the heat was nothing; he wanted to watch Seimei forever. Hiromasa noticed everything: the tilt of his head, his damp-spiked eyelashes, the sweat-sheened glow of his skin, the way his lips formed words he couldn't speak beyond broken syllables.

And then Seimei opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on Hiromasa, pinning him. He said "Hiromasa" just once: a demand, a plea. Hiromasa came, his heart almost stopping, pleasure breaking him apart as he drowned in heat. He thrust harder, ashamed that Seimei hadn't come first, then felt him shudder, heard him cry out.

Sweat ran from him. He would need to wash again. Hiromasa rested his head against Seimei's and took deep breaths. His whole body ached with sensation. He felt burned outside and in.

Seimei blew against his ear, a whisper of coldness. "Did you like that?"

"Seimei." Hiromasa couldn't say anything else; couldn't think of anything else. Need tore at him – no longer physical, but raw, bleeding emotion. His voice broke. "Seimei."

With a moan of satisfaction, Seimei climbed off him. He drifted a short distance away and washed his face. Missing the contact, and afraid of the need building up inside, Hiromasa cornered him.

He traced the line of Seimei's throat, down then up; touched his kiss-swollen mouth with the pad of his thumb. "I love you."

Seimei went still. His eyes widened and then he turned his head, rejecting the words. "This is why I said anything between us was dangerous."

Bewildered, still slow from the intimacy they'd shared, Hiromasa tried to laugh. "It's the duty of a nobleman to express his emotions openly to his lover…"

"A duty?"

Hiromasa heard the bitterness in Seimei's voice. Concern sharpened inside him as he worried that Seimei misunderstood him. "And a pleasure."

Seimei pushed him away and stumbled to the other side of the spring. He tied his wet hair into a topknot with sharp, angry movements and climbed from the pool. Water streamed from his flanks; semen trickled down his inner thighs.

This wasn't how Hiromasa had imagined it. Everything was going wrong. Still striving for normality between them, he called out: "You always tease me for falling in love! Why can't you tease me now?"

Seimei wrapped himself in a white under-robe, the silk blotting the water until the robe was almost sheer. "Because now I don't find it amusing."

There was an edge to Seimei's voice that Hiromasa didn't like. His temper rose. He'd suffered too many of Seimei's refusals; resented his inability to share the desire and intimacy between them. He'd been shut out too many times.

Hiromasa hauled himself from the water. He forced back his anger, still afraid of offending his friend. The thought stopped him, made him laugh, the sound short and bitter. His _friend_. He wanted Seimei as his lover, but all this time he'd continued thinking of him as a friend.

"There is an etiquette to rejecting a suitor, you know." He grabbed one of his under-robes and dried himself briskly, then shrugged into the remaining layers before he could lose the warmth from the pool. "I know you don't subscribe to all that court nonsense but I hoped you'd at least make some allowances for me…"

Seimei made a noise, half gasp, half sob. He turned away before Hiromasa could see his expression, but every line in his body spoke of defeat.

Hiromasa strode over to him, catching the trailing end of a damp sleeve. "Seimei! What is it? What have I done?"

When Seimei faced him, he looked angry, showing more emotion than Hiromasa had seen from him in months, maybe even years. This was what he'd been waiting for – and yet now Hiromasa felt guilty.

Seimei lifted his chin. His expression flattened, but his eyes still showed his true feelings. "You treat me as if I were a dalliance. No – worse than that. At least you know how to behave with your women. You don't creep away from them before they wake."

Hiromasa stared. He hadn't realised Seimei cared so much about social conventions. "I don't mean anything by that. I thought…"

"Every time! Every time, Hiromasa." Seimei's voice cracked with the intensity of his speech. He looked away. "You asked me what I wanted from you. I said I was afraid of what I wanted. I lied."

"Then tell me what you want."

Seimei faced him again. "I don't want you to treat me as if I were one of your princesses. They only hold your attention for a season; they captivate you for as long as they retain their mystery. As soon as you understand them, you become bored and look for someone else to adore."

"This is different." Hiromasa held his gaze, willing him to understand.

"I do not want to take that risk."

Seimei shivered, the wet silk clinging to his skin. Hiromasa scooped up the rest of his under-robes and wrapped them around him. He felt the tension in Seimei's body. He wanted to hold him, but sensed his embrace wouldn't be welcome.

He sighed. "You've told me what you don't want. Now tell me what you want."

Silence answered him. Seimei adjusted the silken layers.

Hiromasa tried again: "Why are you afraid of me?"

"Because I am no longer safe." Seimei looked up, expressionless. "I have wanted you for a very long time, Hiromasa. I wanted you even though I know from experience that a union between us will end in sorrow…"

"You refer to your parents' marriage?"

"And mine."

Hiromasa went cold with shock. "You have a wife?"

"Not any more." Seimei looked unbearably sad, an expression Hiromasa had never seen him wear before. Then he smiled, so distant and fleeting it did little to reassure. "It was a long time ago."

Hiromasa knelt before him and took his hands. "How old are you, really?"

Seimei met his gaze. "Does it matter?"

"No. Even if you were a thousand years old, I would still love you."

"I'm not that old."

He knew Seimei never answered questions on his past, and he'd always accepted it. Truly, Seimei's age wasn't important to him. But a wife… That was different. Hiromasa had never had cause to feel jealous before. He didn't like it. He preferred the thought that Seimei had always been alone until the day they'd met. The idea of Seimei with someone else, even a long time ago, made his heart twist with possessive envy.

Hiromasa shook his head. He had as much claim on Seimei as some long-ago wife. If only he felt more secure in his place. With this in mind, he asked, "Why do you fight this so much? You told me you were happy."

"Happiness is like beauty – it's fleeting." Seimei's laugh was uneven. "The court poets were right after all."

"No. They were wrong." Hiromasa tightened his grip on Seimei's hands. "Beauty might not last forever, but happiness can. Try me, Seimei. I can make you happy; I swear it. I would do anything for you."

Seimei freed his hands. He touched Hiromasa's face in a slow caress and smiled sadly. "Lady Aone told me we were destined to be together. I do not take kindly to the whims of destiny."

This time, Hiromasa hid his shock. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You died."

"But I came back!"

Seimei wrapped his arms across his body as if he was cold. "Lady Aone gave her immortality to restore your life. Perhaps I thought you would inherit some of her wisdom and knowledge."

"That's a poor excuse, Seimei." Hiromasa stood. "You didn't want to tell me because – because…"

"Because I feared how you would react." Seimei uncrossed his arms. He took a deep breath and exhaled. "Because I knew I would have to lose you again."

"You withheld yourself from me because you didn't want to get hurt?" Hiromasa heard his voice climb higher, incredulous. "Seimei!"

"I can be hurt. You know that."

"That was different."

"I died."

Hiromasa smiled. "But then you came back."

Seimei laughed, then turned serious. "I came back for you."

It was what he'd known all along. Hiromasa had never asked, never dared to hope, but he'd always known it. He drew Seimei to him. "Then let me love you. Even if it hurts, I will make it better. I will make you happy. I promise."

"Hiromasa." Seimei's voice wobbled. He muffled the rest of his words against Hiromasa's chest. "You are a very good man."


	11. Chapter 11

_Tenth Month, Twenty-Seventh Day_

Hiromasa woke to see daylight pouring through the open door of the hut. He shifted in the fur, blinking and disoriented. Seimei appeared in the doorway, the cook-pot in his hands. He smiled.

Confused, Hiromasa sat up and rubbed his head. Since the day at the hot springs, he'd made sure to stay in bed until Seimei woke beside him. He knew himself to be a creature of routine, and so it felt wrong that Seimei was already awake and dressed – especially as Seimei wore his white hunting-costume over layered robes of fallen-leaf ochre and deep violet silks.

Hiromasa frowned. The hunting-costume looked pristine. No torn sleeve, no stains from mud or animal blood or moss or semen. It appeared as perfect as if it had been taken from a clothes chest that very morning. And the under-robes… he couldn't remember those particular colours being amongst the garments Seimei had brought with him into the forest.

Hiromasa reminded himself he should not be surprised by anything Seimei said or did. But he was surprised all the same.

"Seimei… what's happening?"

"The forty days are up. The ox-cart will be waiting for us."

Hiromasa stared as Seimei began to pile items in haphazard fashion into the cook-pot. Conscious of a feeling of disappointment, Hiromasa said, "Already? But… we don't have to go right now, do we?"

Seimei leaned over and tugged at the wolf-pelt, an unspoken instruction for Hiromasa to get out of bed. "The Chancellor's incense contest takes place tomorrow."

"The Empress' contest." Hiromasa shoved the fur aside and caught his breath at the feel of the cold morning air on his naked chest. "The Empress, not the Chancellor. You never listen to a word I say."

Seimei made no response, apparently lost in contemplation of Hiromasa's body. Still embarrassed by such frank appreciation, Hiromasa gathered his clothes and held them against his chest. "Seimei!"

"Did you say something?" Seimei tilted his head, his eyes shining with mischief.

Hiromasa growled at him.

They hadn't brought much with them. They took even less when they left. The two earthenware jars had seemed bottomless, providing enough sake for the whole forty days. Hiromasa remembered they still felt full last night, yet this morning, when Seimei broke them on the frost-bitten ground, not even a trickle of liquid remained.

They'd eaten all the rice and vegetables. Seimei packed the two wine cups along with a cluster of bright-hued pheasant tail feathers. Hiromasa had lost three arrows during their hunts, but had gained a set of antlers.

The deer had been young, perhaps only in its first full year of maturity. Hiromasa remembered the thrill he'd felt on stalking the animal and his amazement at getting so close to it. Seimei had whispered in his ear, instructing him on the kill, but the stretch of the bow, the fluid motion of the arrow, had been his doing.

Hiromasa lifted the antlers, weighing them in his hands. The velvet felt soft, peeling away at the edges like dried moss on a stone. He wondered what his mother and his ladies would say if he kept the antlers as a prize. It was a sinful thing to take the life of an animal for food. Doubtless the women would chant sutras for him and encourage him to atone for his guilt, but Hiromasa couldn't find it in himself to feel guilty.

He placed the antlers in the cook-pot then walked around the clearing a final time. The forest, so frightening when they'd first arrived here, was now familiar and welcoming. Even in the grip of winter, it seemed more like home than his house in Heian-Kyo or his quarters within the imperial palace.

Seimei stood over the box and the cook-pot, waiting for him. He said nothing when Hiromasa took his flute from within his cloak and played one last tune of farewell.

They walked out of the forest, taking with them the smell of wet loam and cold pine. Accustomed to a surrounding of trees, Hiromasa was startled by the expanse of open ground that led to the road. The cracked red earth and dried stream had transformed in their absence to frosted stems of grass and a muddy, burbling ribble. Seimei waded through the water, laughing at the cold, leaving the trailing hem of his hunting-costume sodden and dirty as he walked towards the road.

Hiromasa jumped across the stream. Once on the other side, he stopped and looked back at the forest. It seemed grey and distant, no longer a place of interest or fear. The thought depressed him. He shivered and hurried after Seimei, determined to look only forwards from now on.

The cart, with the white ox in its traces, waited for them. Hiromasa sped his footsteps. "How do we know if our scent has changed?"

Seimei continued at the same gentle pace. "It has."

Hiromasa waited for him to catch up. "You told me it was difficult for a man to detect his own scent. If our scent has changed, then we'll be used to it after all this time. So how do we know?"

"Trust me," Seimei said, and smiled.

They reached the road a little upwind from the cart. Seimei shifted the cook-pot in his grasp and walked with slow deliberation towards the ox. The animal raised its head from its grazing and looked at them.

"It's because you're half-fox, isn't it?" Hiromasa persisted. "You smell things differently."

Seimei sighed. "Hiromasa."

"If not, then how do you know?"

"Watch."

He put down the cook-pot and advanced towards the ox. The beast's eyes widened to show the whites, and it tossed its head. It lowed, the sound rising in panic, and its nostrils flared. It snorted puffs of steam and backed away, its flanks striking the traces that held it in place.

Hiromasa hurried forward. "It's afraid. Why is it afraid?"

"Because it doesn't recognise us." Seimei caught the ox's halter and pulled down the animal's head. He whispered in its twitching ears, calming it. The ox snuffled, pushing its wet nose against Seimei's neck and chest. It nodded, apparently satisfied, and whisked its tail.

Seimei turned to Hiromasa with a curving, satisfied smile. "Before we went into the forest, I asked the ox to remember our scent. Animals are far better judges of scent than humans. His reaction of alarm and distrust rather than recognition proves unequivocally that our scent has changed."

He patted the ox on the nose. "Even a slight change will suffice. The ox's response suggests more than a slight change. I'd say our little experiment was a success."

"Little experiment. Yes." With a sigh, Hiromasa placed the box on the back of the cart and went back for the cook-pot.

By the time he clambered inside the ox-cart, Seimei had arranged the scented cushions in heaps. He'd reclined upon them and held a wave-patterned fan open to hide the lower part of his face.

The sight of the fan gave Hiromasa pause. He couldn't recall Seimei using it in the forest. In fact, he was certain Seimei hadn't had the fan with him at all.

Hiromasa sat and smoothed out his damaged, dirtied brocades. He felt sure he looked like a peasant. Perhaps his servants wouldn't even recognise him when he returned home. He looked at Seimei's brilliant white hunting-costume and noticed that even the mud from the stream had vanished. The sight annoyed him, and he sighed.

Seimei moved the fan, half-closing it. He rested it against his cheek and regarded Hiromasa with wariness in his eyes. "You seem surprised by today."

"Yes."

Seimei's expression softened. "Why?"

Hiromasa shrugged. "I suppose…" He paused, afraid of his words. In the forest, he'd felt able to speak freely. Here in the confines of the ox-cart, the strictures of their other life – their _real_ life – seemed to close around him.

"These past few weeks, I almost forgot what you are; who you are." Hiromasa sat forward, fixing Seimei with his gaze. "Abe no Seimei, the yin yang master. The son of a fox-woman. The eccentric who disobeys orders from the Bureau of Divination. The courtier who doesn't care about rank or social convention. I forgot all of this. Instead, I saw you as a man. As my lover."

Seimei lowered his gaze, becoming pale and silent.

"I forgot about magic and demons and being the Guardians of the City. It was different. We were just… us. Together. And we were happy. And now we're going back. It's… I don't know what it is, but I fear it." Hiromasa lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. "Is it so foolish to want to protect something precious?"

"Perhaps." Seimei closed his fan and examined the way the folds lay one on top of the other. "Things will change. That is the nature of life."

"I don't want that!" The words burst from him. Hiromasa reached across the space between them and seized Seimei's sleeve. "I want – I want…"

Seimei loosened Hiromasa's fingers from his arm and drew back. "You of all people cannot stay in a hermit's hut in the forest. You only did it from duty. You did it to save the city."

"I did it because you asked me to do it."

"As I recall, I told you to do it." Seimei smiled slightly. "You cannot always do what I tell you."

Hiromasa exhaled. "I am not one of your shikigami. You don't command me."

Another smile.

"Seimei!" Anger leapt inside him. He knew what Seimei was trying to do. Hiromasa wouldn't allow it. Not when they both had so much to lose. "Don't be cruel. Don't go away from me just because we're returning to the city. Don't give me your haughty courtier's face. I will still want you. Nothing will change between us."

"The court has many distractions for a young man." Seimei flicked open his fan. He glanced at him across it, a brief flash of brilliant eyes quickly hidden. "I will not ask anything of you."

"Why must you be so stubborn?"

Hiromasa sat back on his cushions and folded his arms. He refused to look at Seimei. In the silence that followed, he became aware of the familiar sickly scent of lavender and late autumn roses. With a cry of irritation, he pulled the cushion from beneath his knees and hurled it from the ox-cart.

Seimei hid behind his fan, his shoulders shaking.

Hiromasa glared at him. "It's not funny, Seimei. None of this is funny!"

Silence fell again, longer this time. It stretched out, tightening around them. Hiromasa wriggled amongst the cushions, aware of the growing tension but unwilling to be the one to break it. He was conscious of the plodding of the ox and the dry squeak of the wheels. The curtains fluttered with each jolt. Every action repeated again and again, shredding Hiromasa's nerves.

Seimei seemed unconcerned. He lay curled on his side, the fan clasped loosely in one hand as he gazed at the floorboards of the ox-cart.

Hiromasa fidgeted. Seimei always managed to remain so still. It was inhuman. Hiromasa thought of a fox in bracken, stealthy and cunning, waiting for the kill. He frowned. Maybe he was confused. Cats hunted like that. Did foxes? His thoughts turned elsewhere as he followed the shape of Seimei's body beneath the concealing robes. He remembered how Seimei always offered his nape and throat, like an animal in heat.

Like a fox.

He was appalled by how much the thought aroused him. Hiromasa could smell his desire. On the other side of the cart, Seimei sat up and looked at him. Hiromasa drew in a breath. He had more self-restraint than to make love in an ox-cart. Such an act would be unbecoming and wanton, and with the poor conditions of the road, no doubt it would also be awkward and painful.

He coughed and forced himself to speak. "I find myself thinking of scents all the time. Even now, I'm aware of it: the ox, the dust, the fields, you…"

Seimei lifted his fan, turning and angling it to catch the light. "You will forget. Little by little, it will cease to be so important."

"What if I don't forget?"

He smiled. "You will."

His certainty was a comfort Hiromasa didn't want. "You wouldn't forget."

"No. But then, a yin yang master can't forget. We must remember everything."

"Even though it may bring you pain?"

Seimei closed the fan with a snap. "Pain reminds us we're alive. It reminds us of our mistakes."

Hiromasa lurched across the floor, scattering cushions out of his way. He pulled Seimei into his arms and lowered his head until his lips brushed Seimei's cheek. He breathed in his scent. "This isn't a mistake. I love you."

Seimei tapped his fan against Hiromasa's chest. "You should let me go."

"No."

"Ah." Seimei sighed. "Why must you be so stubborn?"

Hiromasa chuckled. He put a finger beneath Seimei's chin and tilted back his head. Their gazes met, then Seimei closed his eyes. His mouth was soft, inviting. Hiromasa kissed him. If he'd learned nothing else from their time in the forest, now he knew how to kiss. He knew how to render Seimei helpless. It seemed like a dangerous sort of power, to know the weaknesses of a yin yang master, but Hiromasa treasured the knowledge as a mark of Seimei's trust in him.

The ox-cart rumbled through the city gates. Aching with desire, Hiromasa pulled away from Seimei at the first familiar sounds around them. Market traders called out their wares; a temple bell tolled; a dog barked.

Seimei shivered at the last sound. Hiromasa looked at him. "Seimei…"

"You will be home soon." Seimei sat up and adjusted his lacquered hat. He parted the curtains to look out at the busy street. Hiromasa watched the light play over the curves and planes of his face. As if aware of his attention, Seimei said, "Here's your house." He sat back and allowed the curtain to fall.

The ox-cart halted. Hiromasa gazed at Seimei. He heard his servants run out to greet him, but he made no move towards the back of the cart.

Seimei lowered his gaze. "Hiromasa. We must say goodbye now."

"Wait." An idea came to him. He scrambled out of the ox-cart, turning back to clutch the curtains. "Wait for me, Seimei. I'm coming with you."

He didn't stop to hear Seimei's response. Hiromasa rushed inside his house, ignoring the startled cries of his servants. They exclaimed over his absence and the state of his clothing, and directed his attention to the pile of messages awaiting his replies. Hiromasa stopped, momentarily disconcerted by the number of letters heaped on his writing desk. Paper in all hues lay folded, twisted and knotted with flowers. He counted twenty-six letters before he saw the small wooden box placed on the floor beneath his desk.

He picked it up, only half aware of a servant telling him that an unkempt blind woman accompanied by a ragged child had delivered the box only the day before. Hiromasa wrenched open the lid and stared down at the ball of greyish-brown incense resting on a wad of cheap paper.

Lifting it, he sniffed the incense. Seimei's scent surrounded him, unmistakable and perfect. Hiromasa gasped and stumbled backwards, holding the incense ball to his chest. Nose had done it. She'd replicated Seimei's scent.

He smelled it again, this time closing his eyes to focus on the layers of fragrance. Now he recognised the differences between this original scent and the new one. He made a sound of startled awe. He'd believed Seimei when he'd said their scents had changed, but this was further proof of it.

Excited, he tucked the incense back into its box and collected up an armful of letters at random. He swept out onto the veranda. The servants followed him, pleading with him to go inside and rest, to have something to eat, to bathe, to shave, to at least change his clothes before he went visiting. Hiromasa ignored them all, shedding letters as a tree sheds leaves, only to find them pushed back into his hands by his attentive servants.

"I'm not staying," he cried. "I'm going to…"

He stopped, the words fading as he stared at the ox-cart moving away from him. His arms slackened, and the letters cascaded to pool at his feet. "Seimei?"

His servants scuttled around him, retrieving the letters and herding him, gently but firmly, back inside the house. Hiromasa pushed at them. "Seimei!"

The ox-cart did not slow. If anything, it seemed to move faster.

"Oh, Seimei..."

He knew his friend always seemed to hear his mutterings once he passed over the Ichijo Modori Bridge. Perhaps Seimei could hear him now. Hiromasa hoped so. "Seimei," he said again, quieter this time, "I told you things are different between us. Why won't you believe me?"


	12. Chapter 12

The following evening, Hiromasa dressed for the Empress' incense contest with unusual attention to detail. It still felt strange to have the choice of so many styles and colours of fabric. He chose winter shades, plum pink and the pine-leaf green combination of under-robes beneath his black cloak of raised brocade. Before he put on his new court hat, a servant combed out his hair. It had grown past his shoulders, but could not be trimmed to the socially accepted length until the next auspicious day for haircutting.

The strokes of the comb released the scent of wood-smoke and pine. Hiromasa wanted to catch up the length of his hair, crush it beneath his nose, and remember. Instead he ordered the servant to oil it and gather it up tightly into a topknot.

His retainers accompanied his ox-cart to the palace. Hiromasa walked through the long galleries towards the gardens where the contest was to take place. A group of gentlemen greeted him, falling into step alongside him and making pointed enquiries as to his recent whereabouts.

"His Excellency missed you, Lord Hiromasa," one gentleman said. "And His Majesty asked several times when you would be back at court. It seems he forgot where you went, and since you gave no direction or indication of when you'd return, His Majesty has been quite concerned."

"I went to the summer estate of Lord Seimei."

"That branch of the Abe family does not have a summer estate," the gentleman said. "Besides, I heard you were visiting a shrine."

Hiromasa blushed. Seimei was right: He was a terrible liar. He resisted the urge to hide behind his fan or fiddle with his sleeve. "I did both. I visited the shrine on the way to the estate owned by Lord Seimei."

The gentlemen exchanged glances, raising their eyebrows and smiling at one another. Clearly, they didn't believe him.

"A certain lady will be glad of your return to court," another gentleman said, his look as sly as his words. "I hear she missed you grievously, despite the fact she took Lord Kotoku to her bed not long after you left." The gentleman paused for effect and shrugged. "Women are faithless creatures. Why, 'tis better to find another kind of creature to satisfy your desires. I hear foxes are remarkably loyal animals…"

Hiromasa stopped in mid-stride. Controlling the outrage seething inside him, he began, "Sir, what do you know of loyalty? What do you know of foxes, for that matter?"

"They scream at night," a third gentleman said. All three courtiers flapped open their fans, put their heads together, and giggled.

Speechless, Hiromasa stared at them, unable to offer a single word in Seimei's defence. His helplessness angered him, and he put a hand on the hilt of his sword.

Before the courtiers could react to the implied threat, Seimei appeared around the corner of the gallery. His expression was blank and his tone coldly courteous when he said, "Be careful, gentlemen. Foxes don't just scream. They also bite."

The courtiers quailed. When Seimei raised his right hand, they stammered excuses and fled in the direction from which they'd come.

Hiromasa exhaled. He still gripped his sword-hilt, more from shame now than anger. He watched as Seimei adjusted the sleeves of his formal cloak of white figured silk. Beneath it he wore robes of burnt orange, white, and plum, a combination Hiromasa had never liked. He wondered briefly if Seimei had chosen those colours for that very reason before he dismissed the notion as ridiculous.

Seimei sighed. "It will be a long evening."

"Incense contests are usually quite tedious events," Hiromasa agreed. "This is the first one I've attended in years. Last time I fell asleep before the third scent was presented. It was…"

He faltered as Seimei came towards him. The bruises had gone from his throat. The circle of bites Hiromasa had given him had faded completely. Hiromasa stared at the pale, tender skin above the muted colours of silk and felt the sting of rejection.

Seimei met his startled gaze. "I heal quickly."

Hiromasa looked away. "Of course."

"Would you prefer it if I wore the marks of your possession?"

"Yes." Hiromasa stopped himself and shook his head, confusion filling him. "No. It wouldn't be considered acceptable. They already talk of you with such scorn."

"They are ignorant. They fear the unusual." Seimei took something wrapped in pale blue Chinese paper from within his cloak. He untied the twist that held the paper closed. "They would scorn this, too, if you told them what it was and what it did."

A blackened, crumbling ball of incense rested in his palm. Hiromasa took a step backwards. "The spirit-summoning incense? But Seimei – isn't it dangerous to bring it here?"

"It is a risk worth taking." He smiled, smoothing the paper around the burnt incense. Sparkles of grey dust clung to his fingertips. "If it turns out I am wrong about Nose's intentions, perhaps this fragrance will be of use as a distraction." Seimei tossed the wrapped ball at him. "You take it."

"Me?" Hiromasa caught it reflexively. Conscious of the power contained within it, he juggled it from one hand to the other; afraid of what might happen. When Seimei gave a gentle laugh, Hiromasa grumbled and shoved the spirit-summoning incense inside his cloak.

The chatter of conversation sounded behind them. Seimei inclined his head, indicating they should move, and together they continued around the corner of the gallery, crossed a wide courtyard and entered a garden.

Torches lit the path to a pavilion, open on all sides to the night air. Screens had been erected to shelter the Emperor and Empress from malign influences or more mundane chills. The Emperor huddled behind his curtains in silence, but the Empress stood outside of her enclosure, directing her ladies-in-waiting and a couple of gentlemen as they scurried to and fro along the banks of the stream.

Winter Moon was amongst them, lifting an earthenware jar from a freshly dug hole. Hiromasa watched as she brushed the loose soil from it and prised open the lid. Her face lit with excitement as she looked inside at the ripened ball of incense. He swallowed a sour taste as he wondered which scent the jar held: the one for the contest, or the one designed to make him fall in love with her.

"As I predicted, it's the ideal night for an incense contest," Seimei remarked, distracting Hiromasa's attention from his mistress. "Cold and still, with just enough of a breeze to stir the air and dissipate the scents afterwards."

Hiromasa gave him a sidelong look. Seimei almost sounded enthusiastic. He was diverted from making a reply by a shriek from one of the women. Glancing towards the stream, he saw a gentleman holding up a kicking, croaking toad. The ladies-in-waiting all abandoned the holes they'd been digging and clustered together, squealing at the muddy creature brandished by the gentleman.

Beside him, Seimei whispered a few words. The gentleman suddenly toppled into the stream as if pushed. He yelped and floundered while the women cried in dismay and then began to giggle. The gentleman dragged himself from the water. His humiliation evident, he slunk away accompanied by the merriment of the ladies and the croaking of the escaped toad.

Hiromasa bit his lip to stop his laughter. "Seimei…"

Seimei gave him an innocent look.

Their appearance had been noted. From behind his curtain, the Emperor called a greeting. Hiromasa bowed in response. When he straightened up, he saw the Chancellor frowning past him at Seimei. Hiromasa wondered if His Excellency remembered his comment on the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival. Yin yang masters didn't belong at social gatherings, he'd said. Hiromasa readied himself to argue for Seimei's inclusion in the night's events.

Before the Chancellor could speak, his daughter the Empress stepped forward with a smile. Delight shone from her pretty face. "Ah, Lord Hiromasa! I'm so glad Winter Moon persuaded you to come tonight. Your refined taste in all things is well known. You must sit with my ladies and advise us while we debate the merits of each incense."

Hiromasa bowed again. "Certainly, Your Highness. It would be my pleasure."

She gave a sparkling laugh. "Come, Lord Hiromasa, sit here and be welcome." She indicated a long mat spread along one side of the pavilion near her enclosure, where a number of court women already knelt with their jars of incense.

"Thank you, Your Highness."

The Empress smiled in approval as he approached. Her eyes widened and her smile slipped when she noticed Seimei, but she soon recovered her poise. "Lord Seimei is welcome too, of course," she added. A blush rose to her face and she lowered her gaze in embarrassment.

Hiromasa felt an answering tide of heat. Did everyone know about him and Seimei? Glancing around, he saw the speculative looks, the amusement and disdain. His gaze fell again on Winter Moon. Pointedly, she glanced away from him and clung to the sleeve of Lord Kotoku. She simpered and giggled at something he said, then shot Hiromasa a look that seemed to taunt him.

"Are you jealous?" Seimei murmured in his ear.

"No." Hiromasa stumbled over the word, his body responding to the ticklish purr in Seimei's voice. Desperate to control himself, Hiromasa stepped away. "Let's join Her Majesty's ladies. Please attempt to be charming, Seimei."

A snort greeted this remark. When Hiromasa glanced at him in warning, Seimei gave him a bright, superficial smile.

They knelt on the mat. Two women engaged Hiromasa in flirtatious conversation. More guests arrived. Servants poured sake and offered delicacies. He accepted a morsel of fish and found himself longing for the more substantial, sinful meat of a deer. He glanced towards Seimei and saw him conversing with one of the ladies-in-waiting. She whispered something from behind her fan, and Seimei laughed.

The fish turned to ash on his tongue. Hiromasa took a gulp of sake to swallow it and motioned for another drink. He heard Seimei laugh a second time. His hand tightened on the cup. He would not be jealous over such a trifling incident. The emotion was unbecoming as well as hypocritical.

He looked over again. Seimei and the lady had their heads close together, obviously sharing secrets. Hiromasa turned away. The sake tasted sharp and acidic, but he drank it anyway. He gave his attention to the women beside him, praising their wit and beauty in extravagant terms. They fluttered him coy looks and smiled at him with ripe promise, but Hiromasa could think only of Seimei. When the contest ended, he would take Seimei to his quarters within the palace and tear off those ugly formal silks. He would ring his pale throat with love-bites, marking him, claiming him as they moved together in hot, frantic lust. He would…

"Lord Hiromasa?"

He blinked, startled out of his thoughts. The woman closest to him was peering at him with concern. She gave him an uncertain smile. "His Excellency spoke to you."

Horrified by his lapse, Hiromasa summoned the appearance of eager attention. "Yes, my lord?"

The Chancellor gave him a suspicious look. "We were talking of music. Her Highness wishes for some graceful tunes while the contest is judged. Your name was mentioned. Would you oblige us?"

Hiromasa squirmed at being singled out. "I couldn't possibly. My skill is too poor." He poured more sake and buried his nose in his cup.

"Nonsense!" The Chancellor chuckled, a wicked glint in his eyes as his gaze lingered over their small group. "Perhaps Lord Seimei would give us his opinion on your skill at playing the flute."

Hiromasa choked on his drink.

"Lord Hiromasa's talent is extraordinary." Seimei turned to face the company, his beatific smile never wavering. "His fingering is exquisite."

The cup fell from Hiromasa's hand. He whimpered and shook his head.

Seimei arched his eyebrows and pursed his lips, somehow managing to look innocent and sorrowful at the same time. "Ah, Hiromasa. Don't you remember? You played for me all the time at my summer estate."

The Chancellor's moustache twitched, but he managed to control himself. Assuming a casual, interested expression, he asked, "Lord Seimei, tell me: Do wild animals – foxes, for example – do they like music? One would imagine they have no appreciation of tone or melody."

"I believe it's the rhythm of a piece that interests them most."

A chorus of scandalised giggles broke out around them. The Empress lifted her fan, hiding her reaction behind it. The Chancellor shook with silent laughter. The gentlemen chortled and nudged one another.

Embarrassment flooded through him. "Seimei!" Hiromasa hissed, twisting with remorse and shame. "You're making things worse!"

Seimei held his gaze for a long moment, the polite smile wiped from his face. In his eyes Hiromasa read resignation and a flicker of sadness. Too late, Hiromasa realised that his lover had been testing him – and he'd just failed.

His expression blank, Seimei stood. He bowed briefly towards the imperial couple and the Chancellor and murmured, "Excuse me." Gathering his sleeves in his hands, he walked away into the darkness of the garden.

"Seimei…" Hiromasa lurched to his feet, unease and fear turning his stomach. The ladies seated beside him tugged at his brocades, pulling him back down.

"Don't," one of the women whispered. "It's what he wants."

Hiromasa stared after Seimei. _It's what I want, too_, he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. He was too conscious of everyone watching him, waiting for a further reaction. Ashamed of his cowardice, he hung his head and swallowed his emotions.

A sigh seemed to ripple through the company. Behind his curtains, the Emperor stirred and raised his voice in querulous complaint. "Can we get on with the contest now? It's very cold."

"Yes, Your Majesty. Exactly what I was about to suggest." The Chancellor sounded relieved. He clapped his hands to summon the servants. "Let the contest begin!"


	13. Chapter 13

Small braziers were carried forward and placed in the centre of the pavilion. The Chancellor inspected each one, commenting on the glow of the embers and the direction of the breeze. An air of excitement hung over the assembled courtiers. Ladies and gentlemen clasped the jars and boxes containing their incense blends, darting covert glances at their neighbours. Some women began to whisper of their secret recipes, boasting of the pedigree of their scent.

Hiromasa slipped a hand inside his cloak and felt the spirit-summoning incense in its twist of paper. The knowledge that he had it on his person made him uncomfortable. He glanced around, hoping to see Seimei standing somewhere beyond the circle of light given off by the torches ringing the pavilion. Nothing stirred in the darkness. He fretted.

Seimei wouldn't really abandon the most senior figures of the court when a demon was about to strike. Hiromasa knew that. He also knew he'd wounded Seimei with his reaction to the Chancellor's barbed comments. But had he offended him so much that Seimei had left him to handle Nose on his own? Was that why he'd been given the spirit-summoning incense?

Hiromasa's thoughts chased each other into confusion. He stared at the burning embers of the brazier closest to him and let out a small sigh.

"Don't be sad, my lord. This evening will be delightful." Winter Moon wriggled past a number of women and knelt beside him, close enough that her sleeve covered his right knee. She gave him a flirtatious look over the top of her fan, her gaze clear and untroubled. "I intend to enjoy myself. Especially now."

She managed to put a wealth of meaning into the last two words. Hiromasa couldn't decide what she meant. He gave her an uncertain smile, all too conscious of her delight at Seimei's departure. He supposed he should say something clever and witty, but all he could manage was: "I hear Lord Kotoku has been keeping you company while I was away."

Winter Moon giggled. "Oh, yes! But he is such a bore. He is not one half as charming as you, my lord. Everyone says so."

Hiromasa widened his smile until his face ached. Trapped and bewildered, he hoped Nose would make her appearance soon. It was the only way he'd be able to extricate himself from his mistress without making an embarrassing scene.

The Chancellor paused in front of them and announced the braziers were at the optimum temperature for burning incense. Winter Moon squealed and turned towards the Empress, shuffling to the very edge of the mat in an attempt to draw Her Majesty's attention. Hiromasa raised his sleeve to hide a genuine smile, and then to muffle his chuckles when the Empress chose another lady-in-waiting to be the first to exhibit her incense.

Winter Moon sat back. A brief frown marred her features, but then her expression cleared and she began to chatter in a whisper, including Hiromasa and her neighbours in the monologue. In short order, Hiromasa learned the lady's name, her favourite colour combinations for this season, the identities of her husband and two of her lovers, and her secret incense recipe.

"She always makes a variant of the Royal Steward," Winter Moon said. "I told her to try something new this time, but she wouldn't listen…"

Hiromasa tuned out her voice and watched the woman place the dark-coloured ball of incense into a pan set on the brazier. He studied her hands and her quick, nervous gestures, wondering if she was Nose in disguise. When a thin tendril of blue-tinged smoke unravelled from the pan, he leaned forward with everyone else to inhale the scent.

Moments later he jerked back with a snort of surprise. The familiar fragrance of lavender and late autumn roses trailed through the air, mixed with aloe and sandalwood. Hiromasa flapped open his fan and waved it close to his nose, pushing back the smell.

Beside him, Winter Moon had also recognised the primary ingredients in the blend. Her look of surprise swiftly turned to one of annoyance. Turning to him, she whispered, "You didn't share my secret recipe with anyone, did you? Only, lavender and roses is my own personal signature scent."

The Empress asked for his opinion on the blend, which saved him from making a reply to Winter Moon. Hiromasa stumbled through a few words of general praise and relaxed in relief when another gentleman spoke out and expanded on his theme. The discussion moved on. He fidgeted, casting a longing glance at the sake jug placed just out of reach. If the whole night was going to continue in this fashion, the least he could do was get drunk.

At last it seemed that all opinions had been gathered on the first scent. A servant removed the pan containing the incense and carried it away from the pavilion, so the fragrance wouldn't interfere with the next blend of incense.

"Winter Moon," called the Empress. "You have talked much of your unique scent. Please share it with us now."

With a pleased smile, Winter Moon rose to her feet. "I prepared two fragrances, Your Majesties. One – my signature scent that everyone likes so much – I buried in the garden here. Then I decided to try something new and daring. This second scent is very special. So special that after I mixed it, I buried it in a very safe place outside of the city, where no one could tamper with it." She gestured, her glossed silk sleeves flouncing dramatically. "Here is my incense!"

Everyone turned to look at the path. Even the Emperor twitched his curtain so he could peer out. Hiromasa admired Winter Moon's sense of timing as two figures emerged from the inky shadows. A breeze rattled through the bare branches of the trees, dispersing the last lingering traces of the first perfume. The torches guttered, the flames flickering low before leaping up as if in acknowledgement of the woman making her slow, methodical way towards the pavilion.

It was Nose. Dressed in unfigured blue-grey silk, her hair washed and combed to fall down her back, she looked like any low-ranking court lady. She held a ceramic jar tight to her breast, and her free hand rested on the shoulder of a pretty pageboy who guided her steps.

Hiromasa drew in a breath. His heart beat faster and he felt anxiety twitch through his body. He straightened, sitting forward on his knees. He wasn't the only man present to move, although he suspected that Nose's unusual beauty, her milk-white eyes and apparent vulnerability were the things his fellow courtiers noticed.

But while the gentlemen exclaimed over her looks, the ladies subsided into their padded Chinese jackets, murmuring their disquiet. They avoided looking in Nose's direction. Hiromasa realised that what Nose had told him was true – she'd made perfumes and incense blends for all of these women, and they'd passed them off as their own work.

Remembering his first meeting with Nose, he glanced towards the Chancellor. Nose had said that His Excellency was a regular customer, choosing subtle variations on the same fragrance in order to feel safe and secure. Now the Chancellor looked as uncomfortable as the women, wariness and disgust on his features. He strode forward, raising a hand to halt the pageboy and Nose before they could enter the pavilion.

"Stop! This woman shouldn't be here. She is a commoner. She shouldn't be in the city after dusk. She may direct evil influences at His Majesty."

Nose paused her steps. Her grip tightened on the pageboy's shoulder in a wordless command, and he moved away to leave her standing alone and silent.

Hiromasa shifted into a crouch, wishing he still had his sword. He'd surrendered it to a guardsman before he'd entered the gardens. Not that swords had that much of an effect on demons, but at least he'd feel less helpless if he had it by his side.

The breeze turned. The torches dipped again, the flames bowing towards the occupants of the pavilion. Nose's scent brushed through the air, almost tangible; a web of fragrance spinning out to enclose them.

Hiromasa lifted his head and inhaled. A stronger gust of wind scattered Nose's scent, bringing it to him, and suddenly he was overwhelmed. He sneezed, turning away to catch his breath, but the fragrance seemed lodged inside him, taunting him to recognise it.

At the entrance to the pavilion, the Chancellor faltered in his tirade. A puzzled expression crossed his face, and he sniffed. When Nose stepped forward, he frowned at her. Another breeze shivered the air, releasing another wave of scent. The next time Nose advanced, the Chancellor beamed at her and stood aside.

"My dear girl, you are welcome to join our little gathering!" He even bowed to her as she approached, his gaze no longer angry and suspicious but fond and affectionate.

Hiromasa hissed in dismay. He shook his head, trying to concentrate on events unfolding before him, but the scents tumbled around him, daring him to name them all as he'd done in Nose's hut. As soon as he thought he'd recognised one, another would tug at his senses. He realised Nose must have striped herself with a myriad of different fragrances, each one the personal scent of every man and woman attending the party.

The Chancellor had already succumbed to the spell of his own scent. He wore a glazed expression, as if he knew there was something wrong but he couldn't quite identify the problem. As Nose came closer, Hiromasa watched as the gentlemen became infatuated and the ladies, so mistrustful before, suddenly melted into compliance. Cries of welcome vied with protestations of friendship and bold flirtations. A couple of women hurried forward, calling that they would help Nose feel her way into the pavilion. A gentleman pushed in between them, anxious to take on the task for himself.

Hiromasa stood and made his way between the braziers until he faced the cluster of courtiers surrounding Nose. He saw her head lift and her fine nostrils flare as she registered his presence. She hesitated, obviously puzzled as to his identity. He could almost see her working through her arsenal of scents as she tried to place him.

She put out a hand and grasped at the sleeve of the lady closest to her. "That man," she said, her speech coarse in comparison to the refined accents of court. "That man in front of us… who is he?"

The lady cast a glance at him and replied, "It's Lord Hiromasa."

Nose tilted her head. Her eyes widened. "Minamoto no Hiromasa?"

"Yes." Hiromasa took a step forward. "It's me."

Her sightless eyes darted then fixed on him with an unerring gaze. Her skin seemed to glow, luminous and dark. A sigh fell from her lips. "You changed your scent."

"I did." Hiromasa met her gaze. Her milk-white eyes seemed to see straight through him. "I know what you are, Nose."

A moment of silence hung between them. The Chancellor laughed. "Come now, Lord Hiromasa, what are you saying? This young lady is… She is…That is to say…"

"Your Excellency, this woman is a demon." Hiromasa raised his voice so his words would carry to all corners of the pavilion. He hoped someone would see to the safety of the imperial couple. He didn't dare look away from Nose.

"A demon?" Winter Moon exclaimed. "My lord, you are making a joke! A very bad one, of course, but a joke nonetheless. You're trying to distract attention away from my incense. My very special and unique incense that Nose has brought here for me. Just wait until you smell it, my lord. You will be amazed. You will be so astounded you'll forget all about…other people."

Hiromasa turned to stare at her. "What if I don't want to forget?"

"You will." Winter Moon's eyes shone with determination. "You'll forget, and want only me. Not _him_."

Speechless, Hiromasa shook his head. He'd never imagined Winter Moon as an angry or desperate woman. He'd thought she was playful, harmless, a pleasing diversion for the season. Now he realised he hadn't known her at all. He'd seen only what he'd wanted to see. She had talked, revealing herself, and he'd pretended to listen. He had failed Winter Moon the way he'd failed Seimei. Self-disgust made him bow his head.

Nose laughed and came closer. Her footsteps were swift and certain; it seemed her blindness was no longer an impediment. She stopped beside the Chancellor and touched his arm. The gesture seemed innocent and flirtatious, accompanied by a coy glance. "Scent entices and suggests. It can fool men of ideals and women who dream. It can promise delight and pleasure to those who want to believe in its power."

She looked at Hiromasa. "But a man who can smell even the faintest whiff of rot beneath the sweetness… he can never be fooled, no matter how powerful the scent."

Hiromasa caught it then – her true scent, buried beneath the perfumes of the court. She smelled of the cesspit, of funeral pyres and burnt flesh, of decaying fruit. He gagged, his skin crawling as he turned his head, desperate to breathe clearer air.

"Abe no Seimei told you I was a demon." Nose leaned against the Chancellor, who smiled down at her with a fatuous look. "I cannot hide from you, Lord Hiromasa. Not now you know my true scent."

She threw down the jar of incense. As it shattered, her human shell dissolved, exploding outwards in a drift of glittering powder. Hiromasa ducked and covered his face with his arms. A wealth of scent showered over him, but still he could smell the stink of demon. He lowered his hand and saw Nose's true form, a dark-skinned creature with a long snout and horns, tiny eyes and wild hair, and a mouth full of shining, upwards-curving teeth.

He stumbled backwards at the shock of her appearance before he could stop himself. He'd seen demons before – but he'd never been without Seimei when he'd seen them. Swallowing his fear, he stood straight and faced Nose through the residue of glowing sparkles and the fading waves of scent.

The Chancellor stood as if frozen, covered in the glinting powder. It coated the courtiers around Nose, tiny reflective flakes of demon flesh. Hiromasa brushed off the powder that clung to his robes, then felt a sharp stinging sensation. He glanced at his hand, puzzled. It felt as if a mosquito had bitten him. A lone fleck of the glittering powder lay close to his knuckles. When he flicked it off, a bead of blood welled and smeared across his skin.

Nose chuckled.

Hiromasa looked at the Chancellor. The powder-flecks seemed to be shining now, afire with an inner light that had nothing to do with the reflection of the torches. The patches of His Excellency's skin between each fleck grew paler and dimmer with each passing moment. It was as if the gleaming specks were feeding on him, draining the Chancellor of his energy.

A gasp of horror escaped him. Hiromasa tore his gaze from the Chancellor and saw the same thing happening to the other courtiers. They sagged and wilted, slumping to the floor of the pavilion. As soon as they dropped, the shimmering powder-flecks moved on to the next courtier, a deadly swarm that twisted like smoke and smelled of the sweetest, most rare scents.

"Scent-demons!" Hiromasa flapped his sleeves at a swarm, trying to beat them away from their next victim.

"Incense-eating demons," Nose said with a smile. She stepped forward, pulling Winter Moon with her. Although his mistress wore the same blank expression as everyone else, she wasn't covered in the glittering powder-flecks. Her skin was pale, but not grey and drained. She stared at him, her gaze vacant.

Hiromasa started towards her. A cluster of the tiny demons flew at him, but aside from a couple of swift, painful bites, they slid from him and turned upon other targets.

"You don't taste good to them. They don't recognise your scent." Nose lifted her snout and sniffed at him.

"Incense-eating demons only eat incense!"

"Unless instructed to do otherwise." Nose snorted and clacked her teeth together. "They are greedy for any kind of scent, so greedy that if encouraged to seek out a specific fragrance, they will hunt for it and devour it."

Hiromasa caught his breath, realising what she'd done. "Those vials in your hut… the body scents you'd mixed – they weren't for possessing people or for making them trust you. They were lures for the incense-eating demons."

Nose snuffled with laughter. "Those scents serve both purposes. You saw how people responded to me. They welcomed me here and let me get close enough to them so I could shake off the dust of my outward appearance. You recognised the many scents I wore. Now each scent is being tracked by one of my demons."

"You're draining _ki_," Hiromasa said, remembering what Seimei had told him. "You've stolen their scent and now you're stealing their life-force."

Nose dragged Winter Moon in front of her, locking one arm around her neck. Winter Moon lay against her like a doll, passive and still. "It is necessary."

"No! Leave her alone!" Without thinking, Hiromasa sprang forward.

Nose hauled Winter Moon to one side. Hiromasa seized his mistress by the arms and pulled. Winter Moon remained inert, apparently oblivious to what was happening. Nose snarled, her grip loosening as Hiromasa caught Winter Moon around the waist. He held onto her one-handed and tried to heave Nose's arm from her neck.

The demon let go. Hiromasa staggered backwards, Winter Moon's slight weight knocking him off-balance as she slumped into his arms. As gently as he could, he lowered her to the floor.

Nose hissed and feinted forward, her hands outstretched. Hiromasa launched himself at her again. He thudded against her body and she gasped. Her foul odour seemed to pour from her mouth, covering him. Hiromasa coughed, keeping his head down to avoid breathing in too much of her stench. They tussled together, hands grasping on silk and tearing at brocade.

Hiromasa hooked a foot behind Nose's legs and pushed her back. She toppled with a shriek and clutched at him, bringing him down on top of her. They tumbled out of the pavilion onto the ground, still wrestling.

He felt Nose's snout writhe against his neck. With a shout of disgust he jerked away, but kept his weight over her, pinning her to the damp grass. They'd fallen beyond the circle of torchlight, his shadow casting her into darkness. They struggled together, and then Nose lay still beneath him and laughed. Her snout moved leisurely, sniffing his face. He shuddered when she licked his skin.

"How delightful, how clever!" She sounded drunk, as if intoxicated by his new scent. "You smell of pine forests and hoarfrost and wet laurel. He told you how to do it, and you changed your scent for him – for a fox's child, for a man without a heart. You trust him so deeply. Oh, how I wish I'd chosen you!"

Hiromasa recoiled. "What?"

"She needs a vessel for her spell." Seimei stepped out of the shadows of an azalea shrub, the firelight gilding his white formal cloak. Behind him, a glowing line of brilliant light ran from behind the azalea, splitting and criss-crossing the area around the pavilion. Hiromasa followed the diverging lines until he recognised the outline they formed – a pentacle, the shape Seimei favoured for creating a holy barrier.

"You can stop rolling on the ground, Hiromasa. Nose won't be going anywhere."

"Seimei!" Hiromasa couldn't keep the joy from his voice. He crawled aside and stood, brushing at his brocades. If only he could rid himself of Nose's stench so easily. "Seimei, I'm sorry if I offended you earlier…"

"Hiromasa, you have such an alarming propensity for talking nonsense at inopportune times I may be forced to use a spell to silence you." Seimei raised two fingers and pointed.

Hiromasa ducked. "I won't say another word."

Seimei arched his eyebrows in obvious disbelief. He came closer, his pace slow and measured. "I was wrong about Nose's intentions. I thought the theft of personal scents and ki was for the purpose of making spirit-summoning incense – and in that, I presume I am correct, yes?" He cocked his head at Nose, awaiting a response.

Nose rolled into a crouch and eyed him with caution and dislike.

"I'll take that as a yes." Seimei continued to address her. "I thought you wanted the spirit-summoning incense to increase your power. If you called on the spirits of the dead, you could feed on their emotions, take them into yourself to become a creature of immeasurable strength and ability – especially if you'd used me as the focus for the spirit-summoning incense. But I never featured in your original plan, did I? I was merely an unexpected bonus."

Nose sneered. "Foxes always believe the worst of others. They look for deviousness where it doesn't exist."

"In this case, you're right." Seimei put a finger to his lips, his expression thoughtful. "What I couldn't work out was why you wanted so much power…"

"She wanted to destroy the city," Hiromasa said, forgetting that he wasn't going to say another word. "That's what demons do. They destroy things."

"Not all demons." Seimei stopped a short distance from where Nose crouched on the ground. "Some demons want to create."

"Create?" Uncertain, Hiromasa glanced at Nose, then at Seimei.

"You wanted that power not for yourself, but for someone else." Seimei's expression softened as he looked at her. "Like Emperor Wu, you wanted to bring someone back from the dead. Someone you loved – a mortal man."

Nose closed her eyes. "Yes."

"But…" Hiromasa frowned, recalling the story of Emperor Wu and his beloved concubine. "Lady Li was only a phantom. The Emperor tried and tried, but she wouldn't come back to him."

"Emperor Wu was only a man. Nose is a scent-demon. Different rules apply." Seimei gave him a sorrowful look. "Really, Hiromasa, have you learned nothing?"

"Sometimes I think I've learned too much. There isn't room in my head for everything you say. But tell me what you meant by Nose needing a human vessel."

Seimei laughed and moved closer. "I don't mean to confuse you, Hiromasa. But in answer to your question – perhaps we should ask Nose to tell us…"

"Why should I answer a fox-child? Nasty little thing!" Nose lifted her snout and sniffed at him, a look of disgust on her face. "You…" She stopped, sniffed again, and then hissed. "You are not Abe no Seimei!"

Seimei smiled.

"You're not real." Nose rose to her feet, her tiny eyes glinting with malice. "You're an illusion, a fox's trickery. You smell of pure Lotus Leaf scent and nothing else. Not real!"

"Shikigami?" Hiromasa took a tentative sniff and blinked. It was true: Seimei had only one scent, a warm, gentle variation of one of the six classical fragrances.

"If you won't tell us, I suppose I must do it." A second Seimei appeared, moving out of the darkness on one side of the pavilion. He smiled at the first Seimei, who stepped back and stood silent.

Hiromasa looked between the two Seimeis. He wished his friend wouldn't duplicate himself like this. It often became very confusing.

Nose twisted round to face the second Seimei, her snout raised, nostrils flaring. The breeze blew from behind her. Hiromasa gave a surreptitious sniff but couldn't smell anything: the second Seimei stood downwind, his expression revealing nothing.

"Nose intends to summon the spirit of her dead lover," the second Seimei said, "and she intends to house his spirit in a vessel – a human, regardless of gender, whose body scent she knows intimately."

He gestured at the slumped occupants of the pavilion. "She could have chosen any of these courtiers, but she decided on one particular person… Lady Winter Moon."

Hiromasa stared. "Why?"

"Why not? She deserved it." Nose shook herself like a dog and took a step towards the pavilion. "You heard her the day she came to my hut. Always so high and mighty, never grateful for what I did for her! She was the client I've had the longest. It was my perfumes that got her into the service of the Empress. Without my scents, she wouldn't have attracted you, my lord – or any of the other men she flirted with."

"You mean she seduced me with her scent?" Hiromasa gave a disbelieving laugh. "But that day at your hut, she asked you for a perfume to make me fall in love with her. So she'd used one before?"

"She did."

"But…" Hiromasa frowned. "I chose her because of her name, not her scent!"

Nose shrugged. "Her scent perfumed the letters she wrote to you. Like many men, you fell in love with an ideal. I told you: scent seduces and suggests – but the moment you smell the underlying, true scent of a person, you will never be free of it, and nothing can disguise it."

"Is that why I fell out of love with her?"

She snorted. "Your nature is fickle. That's why you no longer love her." Nose curled her snout as if sneering. "Besides, Winter Moon is not a lovable person. Her faults are many, her temper unpleasant. So I chose her as the vessel for my lover's spirit, knowing she would cease to exist as soon as his spirit entered her body. A fitting end for such a selfish woman."

Hiromasa swallowed. "She would… die?"

Nose laughed in response.

"She would be obliterated." The second Seimei moved nearer. "Her body would be remade and her spirit scattered. The only part of her left behind would be one of the things that makes her human – her scent."

Hiromasa gazed at the inert form of Winter Moon. She lay where he'd placed her, unmoving and unseeing. It was as if she was already dead. The idea filled him with horror. For all her faults and jealousy, he'd enjoyed her company throughout the summer and autumn. He couldn't let her die.

Seimei came to stand beside him, his gaze fixed on Winter Moon. "Ghosts don't have a scent of their own. They may sometimes imitate one particular odour associated with their death – blood, for instance, if they were stabbed to death – or they may call up a specific perfume associated with them in life. But these scents are illusions, faint bursts of energy that create suggestions in the minds of the living."

He turned to Hiromasa. "For Nose's lover to be restored to life successfully, he would need a human scent – Lady Winter Moon's scent."

"So all this," Hiromasa waved, encompassing the drained courtiers and the glittering powder-flecks that still fed on them, "this is how much power it takes to bring back one man from the dead?"

Seimei gave him a brief, unreadable look. "Yes."

"The dead are dead. Leave them alone." Hiromasa shook his head and then paused. Something wasn't right. He looked at Seimei, narrowing his gaze. "Seimei…"

Nose growled. "He isn't real, either. It's another fox trick."

When Hiromasa leaned close and sniffed him, Seimei didn't move. "Plum Blossom scent," Hiromasa murmured. "Another shikigami. How many have you made?"

"As many as I thought necessary." A third Seimei appeared, this time from the direction of the stream that ran through the garden.

"One is sufficient," Nose snapped. Her snout writhed in his direction. "You are not real. You smell of Blackness incense. And a very poor version of Blackness, at that."

"Blame the maker of the scent, not me." A fourth Seimei walked out of the pavilion. "Personally I find this particular variation rather pleasing."

Hiromasa looked around, his mouth dropping open as he saw dozens of Seimeis circled around them, advancing upon Nose. Scent surrounded him, made him cough. He flapped a hand, wishing for clean air. "Where did all this scent come from?"

The second Seimei smiled. "I simply made use of what was available to me."

"The balls of incense." Hiromasa gave a nervous laugh. "You made shikigami of yourself out of incense!"

"You think you're so clever, fox-child," Nose snorted, her snout wrinkled as she turned from one side to the other. "But your illusions will fail. You can't hide yourself from me. I will sniff out the real Abe no Seimei – and when I do…"

She darted at the first Seimei with a roar. As she leapt at him, Seimei vanished, dissolving into a blue smoke smelling strongly of Lotus Leaf incense. Nose snarled, shaking her head as the blue smoke coiled about her. She jumped free and rushed at another of the Seimei-shikigami. He also became smoke, this one smelling of tulip and sweet pine.

Hiromasa watched as Nose darted from one Seimei-shikigami to the next. Each time, he vanished before she could touch him; each time, a wave of scented smoke enveloped her. Nose paused, panting for breath, her snout raised like a weapon. Blue smoke clung to her hair and robe, trailing after her and wreathing her in layers of scent.

"You may want to get out of the way," the second Seimei said, giving Hiromasa a benign glance. "She'll be coming for me next."

At the sound of his voice, Nose shrieked. She tore through the incense-fog and lunged at the second Seimei, who dissolved into heavily scented Plum Blossom smoke. Hiromasa drew away from the blue cloud, blinded for a moment. He tripped over something and tumbled onto the floor of the pavilion. Pressing his face to the wooden floorboards, he found himself able to breathe clearly again. He smelled the familiar, comforting scent of damp earth and wood, and gave a sigh of relief.

He pulled himself up onto his elbows and realised he'd fallen over Winter Moon. He got to his knees and leaned over her, brushing the hair from her face and pressing his fingers to the side of her neck, feeling for a pulse. He felt it, slow but steady. Hope flared through him. He gathered her into his arms and shook her. "Winter Moon, wake up!"

Hiromasa focused on her pale face and blank, staring eyes. He was aware of the miniature explosions around him as the shikigami scattered into smoke. The drifting stink of dozens of scents settled in a pall over the pavilion. He rocked Winter Moon, willing her to come out of whatever frozen sleep Nose had inflicted on her.

Another wave of scent washed over him. He turned his head, the incense stinging his eyes and making his nose run. He held his mistress with one arm as he sneezed into his free hand. He wiped his palm on his brocades, screwing up his face in disgust. The different scents around him seemed to blur into one, lodging in his nose to block it as if he had a bad cold. Maybe that would be a relief. If he had a blocked nose, he wouldn't be able to smell anything…

Realisation came to him in a rush. Suddenly he knew what Seimei was doing. He lay Winter Moon down again and jumped to his feet, determined to help. Seimei had made shikigami out of all the intact incense balls brought to the party by the courtiers, but had he thought to use the one demonstrated first in the contest?

Hiromasa raced to where the servant had placed the pan beside the stream. He scrabbled in it, feeling the warmth of the incense against his fingertips. Scooping up the scented ashes, he ran back to the pavilion.

Only one Seimei remained, his stance wary as he circled Nose. Hiromasa had no idea if this was the real Seimei or the last of the shikigami. He hurried forward, his cupped hands in front of him. "Seimei!"

Nose swung around to face him. She made a terrifying sight, her hair and horns wreathed in blue smoke, her dark skin now paled to grey with exhaustion and anger. Strings of saliva hung from her sharp teeth; mucus ran from her snout. Her tiny eyes were dilated, and her breath rasped in her throat.

Seimei took a step backwards. "Now, Hiromasa!"

With a shout, Hiromasa flung the crumbled incense and scented ash into her face. A breeze blew up behind him, and the grey residue turned into shimmering blue smoke. Nose shrieked, clawing at the air as if it were a living thing she could fight. The smoke swirled around her, covering her twisting body. She struggled against it then fell to the ground in a heap.

Hiromasa started forward, anxious to see what had become of her.

"Wait," instructed Seimei. He moved around Nose to stand beside Hiromasa, his gaze fixed on the fallen demon the whole time.

"Seimei?" Hiromasa touched his sleeve.

"It's me." Seimei gave him a quick smile. "Thank you."

From the ground, Nose gave a piteous cry. She uncurled from her hunched position and looked at them, her eyes wide with panic. Her snout hung limp, its tip wet with slime and blood. "I can't smell. I can't smell anything!"

Seimei lifted his chin, the only outward sign of his emotion. "You overdosed on your own scents, Nose. You've destroyed your own sense of smell."

She gasped, shudders racking her body. Nose crawled towards him across the grass and seized the trailing hem of his formal cloak. "Fox-child, you are powerful. Give me back my nose. Let me have my sense of smell."

"I can't. I don't have that power." Seimei tugged his cloak free of her grasp and turned away.

Nose wailed, clutching her head in her hands.

Hiromasa looked at her. Despite himself, he felt moved by sympathy. He glanced at Seimei. "There's nothing you can do?"

"Perhaps if she released the _ki_ that doesn't belong to her, and took her little incense-eating demons back into herself, the energy may help restore the balance of her senses," Seimei said. "Then again, it may not. Who can tell?"

Nose looked at him, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. She staggered to her feet and spread her arms, crooning a discordant melody. In an instant, the glittering powder-flecks rose from their feeding-ground and converged on her. They buzzed like a swarm of bees, then settled upon her body, crawling over her until she gleamed.

As the light grew intense and painful, Hiromasa shielded his eyes from the glare. When he looked again, Nose had returned to her human shape. She stood meek and quiet, her face white except for the bright trail of blood leaking from her nose. She touched it, her fingertips coming away stained red.

"I still can't smell anything." Her voice sounded small. She lifted her blind gaze to them. "I can't even smell my own blood."

Her shoulders slumped and she hid her face in her sleeves. The edges of her shape blurred, becoming indistinct. Hiromasa rubbed his eyes and stared as she faded away in front of him, leaving behind only the faintest trace of fragrance.

Seimei sighed and waved a hand, dissipating the scent. "Lavender and late autumn roses," he remarked. "How very appropriate."

Hiromasa gazed at the place where Nose had been. "Where did she go?"

Seimei shrugged as if unconcerned. "To the same place humans go when they lose the one thing that kept them alive."

Hiromasa didn't know how to respond to that, so remained silent.

"Well." Seimei glanced around the pavilion at the slumped nobles. "At least there's less mess this time. I hate clearing up."

Hiromasa started to laugh.

Seimei smiled at him. "And we didn't need to use my spirit-summoning incense, either. I admit I was concerned about that." He arched his back and stretched with a little purr. "You keep it, Hiromasa."

"Me?" Hiromasa put a hand to the front of his cloak and felt the shape of the spirit-summoning incense concealed inside. "I don't want it. Why would I need it? I don't wish to call upon the dead!"

"It works on the living, too."

"It does?"

Seimei laughed and turned away. Bemused, Hiromasa watched him pick his way across a group of unconscious courtiers, murmuring chants in a low voice and sweeping his hands back and forth as he worked through the pavilion.

At his feet, Winter Moon stirred. Hiromasa dropped to his knees beside her. He clasped her icy hands and called her name. She whimpered, blinking as if to clear her vision, and then her gaze settled on him.

"Lord Hiromasa!" Her lips, still pale, formed a smile. "Did I win the contest?"

"Ah," he said, thinking quickly. "The contest was postponed. His Majesty caught a chill. And so did His Excellency. And everyone else. So it was postponed, because you can't judge an incense contest when you have a cold, because you can't smell anything."

"Oh." Winter Moon nodded, accepting his story. She stifled a yawn and peered up at him with sleepy eyes. "I'm very tired, my lord. My body aches all over and my neck feels stiff. Perhaps I have a cold, too."

"You should rest now." Hiromasa tried to sound solicitous. He stroked her hair until her face relaxed into sleep; then he sat back and heaved a sigh.

When he looked up, Seimei had gone.


	14. Chapter 14

The second incense contest was held on the Emperor's orders one week later. It seemed no one could remember the evening of the first contest, due to the bad cold that had spread amongst the courtiers and affected their memories. The Chancellor blamed Seimei for setting the date for the first contest on such an inauspicious day. Seimei's reputation did not suffer, however, as he prescribed a sweet-tasting concoction that brought renewed energy and vigour to the ailing courtiers.

The individual incense balls were discovered in crumbled, powdered pieces all around the Empress' garden. At first the servants were blamed, but then Hiromasa recalled that there'd been an abnormally strong wind that night. Doubtless the weather was to blame for both the colds and the scattering of incense. Everyone agreed with him.

While the courtiers recovered their strength and squabbled over ownership of the rescued incense balls, Seimei and Hiromasa went to Nose's hut. They gathered together her remaining scents in both liquid and solid form and mixed them all in one large jar. Hiromasa added in his and Seimei's scent, then stirred the combined fragrances until his eyes watered from the stench.

Seimei opened the door of the hut to let in some fresh air. Wrinkling his nose, he said, "Amazing, Hiromasa. From some of the most beautiful perfumes in existence, we have managed to replicate the smell of the cesspit."

The idea of presenting to the court incense that smelled of the cesspit made Hiromasa giggle. He formed the sloppy mixture into a ball and dried it near a fire.

Seimei refused to attend the second contest, and so was not present to see Hiromasa's triumph. The Chancellor and the Empress praised his cesspit-incense in extravagant terms. Even the Emperor liked it.

Startled by his victory, Hiromasa listened to the ladies and gentlemen describing the evocations of the cesspit-incense. Everyone smelled something different, and he came to the conclusion that, like Nose on the night of the first contest, each person had smelled only their individual scent rather than the repulsive whole.

Winning the contest made Hiromasa more popular than usual. Winter Moon, sensing competition from other ladies-in-waiting, practically took up residence outside his quarters in the palace. His former lovers trailed after him whenever he went about his business at court. New admirers, male as well as female, approached him with coy smiles and invitations. He was showered with so many letters and poems he feared it would take him until the New Year to properly answer them all.

Panicked by such attention, Hiromasa told everyone he'd gone on a pilgrimage and then locked himself in his house. He hadn't stirred from the safety of his estate since.

Now he lay stretched out on a mat in an inner room, close beside an unscented brazier. He watched the coals glow and breathed in the roughness of the smoky heat. Outside, rain pattered on the roof-tiles and stained the edges of the veranda with damp. Occasionally, through the standing curtains and dividing screens, he caught a glimpse of a servant gliding past, their footsteps silent.

His flute sat, discarded, at the edge of the mat. Earlier, he'd played until his fingertips were sore: a medley of court tunes, Chinese songs, and the melodies he'd composed in the forest. The music had modulated into something sad and pensive, and he'd stopped before it could reduce him to tears.

He ached for Seimei, an actual physical pain that wouldn't shift no matter what he did. At night, Hiromasa would wake suddenly, conscious of his loneliness. He missed Seimei's warmth curled next to him. He'd never imagined he'd become so accustomed to sleeping beside a lover that he couldn't rest without him.

They hadn't been together since they'd returned to the city. The last time he'd seen Seimei had been the day they'd made the cesspit-incense. He'd sent letters, even ventured a few poems, but Seimei hadn't responded.

Hiromasa had dispatched his pageboy to listen to gossip. The news came back that the Bureau of Divination, including Seimei, was closeted discussing a series of omens concerning the Hase Temple. Hiromasa took comfort from the fact that Seimei was busy rather than avoiding him. He didn't want a repeat of what had happened after the Mid-Autumn Festival.

With a sigh, Hiromasa sat up. He warmed himself by the brazier a little longer then stood and went onto the veranda. He gazed at the garden, at the plants withered by winter. The sight made him angry.

Gathering his silks close to him, he strode inside to his study. A pile of unanswered correspondence taunted him, but he ignored it. He knelt before a chest and pulled open a drawer. After a moment's searching, he found what he was looking for hidden beneath a sutra. Hiromasa lifted it out and balanced it in his cupped palms.

The spirit-summoning incense.

The pale blue paper covering it was now creased and worn from repeated handling. He'd taken it out and looked at it a few times since the first incense contest. At first, he was unwilling to believe that the crumbling, blackened ball could have so much power. More recently he found himself remembering what Seimei had told him that night when he'd given him the incense.

_It works on the living, too._

He stared at it, wondering if Seimei had spoken the truth. If he lit it, would it bring his heart's desire, or would he be like Emperor Wu, taunted by an illusion?

Hiromasa closed his hands around the incense and got to his feet. He carried it back into the other room and dropped it onto the brazier.

For a moment, nothing happened. The fragmentary ball remained cold. He took a poker and stirred the coals, building them up to surround the spirit-summoning incense. He crouched and blew gently, encouraging the embers to spark. With a hiss and a pop, the outer edges of the incense ball caught in a brief flare of light.

Hiromasa drew back, his face hot. He knelt on the mat and watched as a thin ribbon of blue smoke rose from the incense. Doubt made him anxious, and he tried to recall from Seimei's story what he was supposed to do next.

Focus. He was supposed to focus on the thought of the one he loved. Taking a deep breath, Hiromasa closed his eyes and summoned Seimei to mind.

It was more difficult than he'd expected. He couldn't think of just one single image of Seimei. His memory was crowded with images, from the day they'd first met to the more flagrantly erotic recollections of their time in the forest. Hiromasa attempted to control his thoughts, tried to concentrate, but gave up with a groan of despair.

He opened his eyes. The blue smoke had thickened and the strange, unidentifiable scent of the spirit-summoning incense filled the room. While he hadn't succeeded in summoning Seimei, Hiromasa was glad he hadn't managed to call on any other passing spirits, either.

Perhaps the incense had lost its power. After all, it was over a thousand years old if it had been made during the reign of the First Emperor of China.

The gentle scent wrapped around Hiromasa, relaxing him. He watched the tendrils of blue smoke move and dance in the draught. It was almost hypnotic. Feeling at peace, he decided to try again. This time he didn't consciously think of an image of Seimei; instead, he spoke his thoughts out loud, addressing the smoke.

"I failed you the night of the first incense contest, didn't I? You wanted me to acknowledge you as my lover and I didn't. I avoided it. I'm sorry I was such a fool."

He waited, feeling a little embarrassed to be talking to an empty room. When no servants came to see if he needed anything, he continued, his voice lower: "It would be easier if this was just about desire. I understand that. I thought I understood love, too. You know how I am about love."

The incense smoke thickened and twirled. Hiromasa gave a nervous laugh and rubbed his hands over his arms. "I thought I could make you happy. I thought I could persuade you into accepting my version of things. We could make love all day and not think about anything or anyone else while we were together. That's me; that's my idea of a relationship. But that's not you, is it?"

Hiromasa sighed. "Half man, half fox… and all you want is one single certainty. No half measures, just one thing. And I was too much of a coward to give it to you." His next laugh cracked into sadness. "Oh, Seimei. I'm too much of a coward to say this in front of you. Perhaps the smoke will drift and tell you the truth. I love you. Give me another chance to prove it to you."

The coals popped in the brazier. Hiromasa looked up, startled, and let out a yelp as the blue smoke took on a distinct shape. At first it seemed like nothing, just eddies and swirls, but then it came together, the smoke filling out to create a human form.

Hiromasa whimpered and fell over. He retreated to the other side of the mat and knelt low on the floor, unable to tear his gaze from the image gathering depth and colour within the smoke.

The figure came forwards, dressed in a white hunting-costume over deep blue silk. Hiromasa gasped. "Seimei," he whispered, and reached out. He was afraid to touch, afraid that, like Emperor Wu, he'd be left grasping nothing but smoke, but desire drove him onward, made him rise to his feet and approach the brazier. "Seimei!"

The smoke cleared, sweeping back and then curling in coy tendrils around Seimei, who looked surprised but not displeased to be there. He smiled.

"Ah, thank you, Hiromasa. You've saved me from an extremely dull meeting at the Bureau of Divination." Still standing in the brazier, with flames licking at the hem of his hunting-costume, Seimei put out his hand. "Help me down from here. It's rather hot."

"Seimei." Hiromasa's mind seemed stuck. He couldn't think of anything else to say. He lifted Seimei from the brazier then stood there, his hands still on Seimei's waist. He glanced down at the flames, unsurprised when they vanished, leaving the hunting-costume immaculate.

He raised his gaze and stared at the familiar face, pale and beautiful and lit with a fox-smile. "Seimei, is that really you?"

Seimei pressed closer. "Touch me. Am I smoke?"

"You're real." Hiromasa ran his hands over him, first of all to satisfy himself that Seimei wasn't an illusion, and then again just because he enjoyed it. "You… Seimei, this is my house. Why are you in my house?"

"Because you summoned me."

"No, I mean… you never come to my house." Hiromasa was aware he was talking too fast. "You said it yourself. You don't like being in the city. And yet you're here."

"You wanted me here." A flicker of uncertainty showed in Seimei's expression, and he drew back. "Am I unwelcome?"

"No. Stay. I want you to stay. I mean, stay with me, Seimei. I want you." Afraid that Seimei could disappear again as easily as he'd arrived, Hiromasa grabbed him and held tight. He lowered his head and brushed his lips against Seimei's cheek. "Just promise me you won't vanish in the morning."

"As long as you promise the same thing." Seimei chuckled, soft and low. "It will be a novelty to wake up beside you in your house."

"A novelty? Can you be serious for once, Seimei?"

"I am being serious."

Hiromasa snorted. "Of course you are. Well, I'm serious too. Very serious." He took Seimei's hands and began to lead him behind the standing curtains towards his bed. Then he hesitated, a thought coming to him, and he turned back. "Wait. I should dampen down the incense. Since foxes don't like smoke…"

"Leave it burning." Seimei smiled up at him. "It smells sweet."

****

完


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